An Awful Shadow
by Shinysavage
Summary: AU. Book 3: Harry begins to train for Voldemort's inevitable return. However, there are distractions in the return of the man who betrayed his family, a killer with a grudge, and some nasty facts about some of his family...
1. Prologue: The Prisoner of Azkaban

Harry Potter and the Second War: Book 3

**Harry Potter and the Second War: Book 3.**

**An Awful Shadow**

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Everything you don't recognise is mine. The title comes from Percy Shelley's Hymn to Intellectual Beauty

_'The awful shadow of some unseen Power_

_Floats though unseen among us'_

**Summary: **Having found out that Voldemort is still alive, Harry begins to train for his inevitable return. However, there are distractions in the return of the man who betrayed his family, a sadistic killer with a grudge, and some uncomfortable revelations about some of his nearest and dearest.

Warnings – AU, violence, some swearing. Third in a series, so read the previous two first. This is where the deviations from canon become more obvious, and will contain the scenes that originally inspired the whole series – so I hope you all enjoy it!

**Prologue: The Prisoner of Azkaban**

Azkaban was a vile place. The mere mention of its name could inspire terror in the strongest people, and the guards were the source of nightmares for magical children all over the United Kingdom. It was situated somewhere in the North sea, away from Muggle shipping lanes, in a spot that would be found on no Muggle map, protected by wards and spells that turned Muggles away. Those who were imprisoned there were the dregs of society; the serial killers, the rapists, the dangerous Dark wizards. The Death Eaters.

Built in the panopticon style, it was a circular building that looked as if it had just been dropped onto the island, that was more of a lump of rock jutting out of the sea. There were teams of Aurors and Unspeakable commandos patrolling the walls, while the infamous Dementors stalked the internal corridors. A single team of warders watched the prisoners through the slats of the central column. The corridors almost always rang to the shrieks of the prisoners, most of whom went mad within the first few months of their imprisonment. Not even those who retained their sanity left unchanged. Prisoner welfare concern was non-existent. The homeless fed on better food than the inmates. Very occasionally, roughly twice a year, they were taken out of their cells – individually, never in groups – for some exercise. Not for nothing was it said that the only way to distinguish between Azkaban and Hell was the temperature.

That evening, there was, perhaps naturally, a storm. The Aurors and Unspeakables patrolling the walls hunched themselves into their cloaks, constantly renewing warming charms. The wind howled around them, sweeping through the cracks in the walls and blowing around the cells. The warders in the central column were feeling nervous; it was far too quiet tonight. One of them, in an effort to displace her anxiety, began her patrol early. She put on the bewitched glasses that would allow her to see the prisoners in bright light, without being seen herself, and set off.

As she approached the highest level of the column, she shivered in disgust. This was the level where the Death Eaters were kept. Whereas the previous ten levels had been almost deathly silent, here the silence was broken by raucous cackling. She circled the room, looking in at them.

Bellatrix Lestrange, You-Know-Who's right hand woman and, rumour had it, occasional lover. She was chewing on a rat, which was still alive, judging by the way it was moving, with a look of genuine glee on her face. She had been strong, holding onto her sanity for almost three years. But when it had gone, it had gone swiftly and viciously. She was now barely capable of human speech, communicating via a series of grunts and shrieks.

Rodolphus Lestrange, her husband. He still kept hold of his sanity much of the time, and held the record for the most number of escape attempts in the prisons history.

Augustus Rookwood, a simpering former Ministry employee, found to be passing secrets to the Death Eaters. His time in Azkaban had brought about several nervous twitches. As the guard watched him, a Dementor floated past his cell. When it left, he was on the floor, sobbing his eyes out and scratching at his face in madness.

Edgar Selwyn, a vicious thug who had once ripped a man's arm off before beating him to death with it. He had once tried to rape the guard who had brought him his food.

Caitlyn Dolohov, who had pioneered the use of household charms in torture. She was humming softly to herself, probably remembering her dead husband, Antonin.

Decus Yaxley, who would have been imprisoned even without the mark on his arm; it had been discovered when he was arrested after forcing himself on a young girl.

The guard shook her head as she moved away from the 'famous' ones, looking in at the others. So many of them, willing to sacrifice their lives for a madman. All of them had been altered, mentally and physically by their incarceration. Except one.

Evan Rosier.

She was unable to suppress a shiver as she looked in at his cell. Although the rigours of life in Azkaban had changed him physically, he was still handsome. And he was still in the same mental condition he had been when he had been imprisoned, a month after You-Know-Who's fall from power. Of course, few people believed that he had been sane before his arrest, so perhaps there was nothing for him to lose. He was lying on his back, apparently unconcerned by his predicament. He scared her. She had been responsible for delivering his food a few times, and he was always polite, enquiring after her and her family – enquiries that were never answered. Even if it hadn't been policy, she had heard about the family he had befriended several years ago. Two weeks later, they had been found, their corpses left posed around the dinner table, the room flooded with their blood. He was a complete sadist, and he committed his crimes with a boyish gleam in his eye.

She took one last look around the tower, then retreated to the warmth of the guard room.

* * *

Evan Rosier grinned as the guard left. The whole point of the panopticon design was that the prisoners couldn't tell when they were being watched; it enforced discipline by making them assume that they were always being watched. However, Rosier had a distinct advantage. He was, to his shame, not totally Pureblood. Back in the dim and distant past, the Rosier bloodline had been contaminated. While this was a shameful event, it had left all future Rosier's with a very useful ability. They could smell magic.

All wizards could feel magic to some degree, letting them know how powerful someone was, assuming no-one used shields. Rosier just had an edge on other people. And in such a magically starved environment as Azkaban, it was easy to sense some new trace of magic arriving. He knew precisely when a guard was watching him, and could always be on his best behaviour. He was not on his best behaviour tonight. Evan Rosier had a plan, a plan that had taken years to sort out and train for, while avoiding the watchful guards. All he needed was suitable motivation, and that had arrived a few nights ago. He had been looking out at the sea, when a sudden shocking pain had exploded in his wrist. In his Dark Mark. He knew the others had felt it too, but they lacked his focus, his dedication. Tonight was the night.

He began to shout, screaming for help, rolling off his bed, clutching at his stomach. He chewed down on his tongue between screams, chewing until he drew blood, which he allowed to dribble from his mouth onto the rags that made up his uniform. After about ten minutes, a bridge extended from the central tower, two guards walking across it. They came and stood at the door to his cell, shining wand-light in at him.

"What's wrong with you? Well, speak up!"

Rosier raised his head, letting them see his bloody face. He moaned for good measure, coughing out more blood. One of the guards stepped back in disgust.

"Fuck. Suicide attempt?"

"Who gives a shit? Let's get him downstairs…"

The door opened, and the guards walked in, wands raised. One bent down to pick Rosier up, and that was when he flicked his arm out, lashing out with a blast of wandless magic. The rear guard was thrown backwards, his spine snapping against the stone door-frame. His head lolled forward as he fell to the floor. The guard who had bent over Rosier was thrown back as well, and Rosier grabbed his wand as the guard staggered to his feet. The guard looked at him in fear.

"Thank you so much for your assistance kind sir. You've been most helpful, ah… Suckling is it? But, much as it pains me, I'm afraid I can't have you following me. _Abrumpo!"_

Before the man had time to blink, the spell had torn through his neck, and his head fell to the floor. It rolled away, over the ledge outside the cell, falling to the floor far below. Rosier imagined he could hear the thud over the wind. He grinned. He stepped forward to the doorway, laughing at the flash of lightning. He walked out of his cell, and the other Death Eaters began to laugh, screaming his name, and he basked in their admiration.

He flexed his fingers, casting all the concealment charms he could think of on himself. The tricky part was done with; getting past the guards shouldn't be too much of a problem now he was armed. He'd always taken pride in his combat abilities – almost avant-garde in the words of… Rosier snarled. The words of the traitor, the bastard who had tricked the Dark Lord into attacking Godric's Hollow. He would be found, and he would be destroyed.

And after that? Another search. The pain in his Dark Mark would let him know where to go, eventually. The Dark Lord was alive, and he was ready to be restored to his rightful place in life.

* * *

A/N: I don't really like explaining plot in notes, as it generally indicates lazy plotting in my experience. But since this is a) potentially confusing and b) relatively unimportant, I shall make an exception. Yes, I know that Rosier should be dead. Basically, I confused him with Rookwood, and by the time I realised, I'd posted a scene in Prophecies… featuring him in an important role. So he'll be sticking around, and I hope you'll all learn to love him…

Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	2. Harry Gets Bugged

**Chapter 1: Harry Gets Bugged**

Harry wriggled in discomfort. He really didn't like his formal robes; he firmly believed that he looked an idiot in them. His belief hadn't been helped by Draco's smirk when the blond had seen him at the beginning of the evening. But then, Draco smirked at a lot of things. He might not necessarily have been smirking at Harry. He moved slightly and winced, beginning to run his finger around his collar in an attempt to loosen it. He was successful, and he sighed in relief.

He was at a charity dinner with Sirius. Neither of them particularly wanted to be there, but Sirius was the head of the Black family, whether he wanted the title or not, so some things just had to be done. Harry went for moral support, and to see Draco, who was usually at the same things. Neville occasionally showed up as well, but Harry hadn't seen him yet that evening.

Of course, this dinner was worse than normal. He was, after all, the only person in the room who had killed a basilisk, and only a few weeks ago as well. The Ministry had tried to suppress Harry's role in the affair – whether out of a respect for his privacy or because of embarrassment about their failure Harry wasn't sure – but some details had got out. Fortunately, nobody outside his immediate circle yet knew that he had killed it with a sword. That would have made the gossip even worse.

A group of young women started to hover near him, pointing and giggling, breaking into heavy blushed when he looked back at them. He stifled a groan, smiled slightly at them and hurried off to find a drink. Now holding a glass of juice as if it was a shield, he went and hid in a corner, praying that Sirius would decide that enough was enough shortly. Unfortunately for Harry, Sirius was preoccupied with a beautiful young woman who seemed to be fascinated by him. Harry scowled as he saw them laughing from across the room.

"Cheer up. Anyone would think that you're not having a nice time!"

Harry grinned slightly at the familiar drawl.

"Draco. Don't pretend that you _are _having a good time; I know perfectly well that you look down on them. Vacuous, insipid drones you once called them if I remember correctly."

"True, and that's the fun of it. It's great fun to watch them try and work out what the hell I'm on about" Draco said with a self-satisfied smirk.

Harry rolled his eyes. His friend really was incredibly arrogant sometimes. Draco reclined against the wall, watching the crowd.

"So, how are the Muggles?"

"If you mean Muggles in general, I really have no idea. Of course, if you mean my family, then they're fine thank you."

"You know what I meant. Your family are Muggles are they not?"

"That is undeniable."

"Well then, you should have known who I was talking about. As if I'd care one iota about any other Muggles!"

"Why Draco, I didn't know you cared about my family. Dudley will be so pleased."

Draco grimaced, and Harry grinned widely. Draco and Dudley had only met once. Draco had made some crack about Muggles, and Dudley had hit him. It had been one of the funniest things Harry had ever seen, and he would treasure the memory of the aristocratic blond sprawled on the floor, spluttering indignantly. Draco scowled at Harry.

"I do wish you wouldn't joke about that, it was one of the worst moments of my life!"

"Aww, poor little Draco. You looked like such an idiot…"

"Speaking of looking like an idiot, what _are _you wearing Harry?"

"Dress robes. What do they look like?"

"They look like out of date dress robes. Even the Weasley's can muster some decent robes for things like this Harry, what's your excuse?"

"That I really don't give a damn about the evening?" Harry asked dryly.

"That's no excuse for lack of presentation."

"Well, I suppose I am talking to the boy who spends hours charming his hair the right colour…" Harry said, his voice sly.

Draco flushed and began to stammer incoherently, making all kinds of threats. Harry just smirked and sipped his drink.

There was a flash of light, and smoke began to drift around them. The two friends blinked and coughed as someone walked through the smoke. She was a genuine bottle blond, with ugly glasses and a patently insincere smile on her face. She was being followed by a man with a camera, which was the source of the smoke. Her smile broadened as she took out her notebook, putting her quill to her lips as she thought.

"Well well well… Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Let's see… 'A strained smile on his lips as he tries' – no, pretends, that's better – ' as he pretends to enjoy the festivities.' "

Harry blinked in shock, looking round surreptitiously for a mirror. He didn't think his smile was strained.

" 'Forced to associate with the children of those behind his parents deaths'. Yes, very stirring stuff. My readers will lap it up Harry. Oh yes, so sorry. Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet. Perhaps you've read my articles?"

"No, I stick to the actual news." muttered Draco, but Harry only shook his head mutely. Who the hell was she?

"If you don't mind me asking, what do you mean 'children of those behind my parents deaths'?" he asked, frowning in confusion. Rita raised her eyebrows, affecting surprise, and her voice turned sickly sweet.

"Why, young Master Malfoy here! Everyone knows about Lucius Malfoy's time as a Death Eater Harry… I can only imagine how you must feel, having to spend time with him…"

Harry tensed up, drawing himself up to his full height. The camera flashed again, capturing his anger and Draco's fury – the blond boy was seething.

"My father - "

"Yes dear? Perhaps you'd like to give us an inside view on life in the Malfoy household?"

_Let me take her_

Harry blinked, and looked around to see who had spoken. There was no-one around. He tuned back in to the conversation, just in time to hear Draco say something truly foul to the woman in front of them. She gave a smug smile, and Harry saw that her quill was moving of its own accord. She was recording everything that they had said. His eyes narrowed in anger, and he gasped as he felt his magical core twitch, magic flying from his body.

The notebook and quill began to smoulder, unnoticed by the reporter. Harry's lips twitched, despite his irritation at his lack of control, and he settled back against the wall, waiting for the penny to drop.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy flinched. She had felt magic being let loose.

She turned her head, instinctively seeking out her son at the first sign of potential danger. She scanned the room, and was quickly drawn to a subtle plume of smoke rising from a corner of the room. Moving slightly to the side, she could see Draco arguing with – was that Rita Skeeter? And then she saw Harry, and she smiled slightly at the look on his face. She moved away from her husband, walking to her cousin. Sirius turned away from the woman he was flirting with at the sight of her, looking quizzically at her.

"Sirius, I fear it might be time to take Harry home. If he stays here much longer, he is going to kill Miss Skeeter."

Sirius quickly sought out his godson, and barked with laughter at the sight."

"You say that like it's a bad thing 'Cissa."

* * *

A full-fledged grin broke out on Harry's face as Skeeter shrieked, the flames from her now fully ablaze notebook licking at her fingers. Her photographer started jumping around, trying to put out the flames with his wand; sadly, his control was less than satisfactory, and most of the water he conjured ended up soaking Rita. She began to scream at him, and Harry began to laugh out loud. Draco was looking on in shocked silence, but as the flames finally went out, the sight of the bedraggled reporter, spitting water and screaming abuse at the photographer, he began to snigger as well.

Harry stopped laughing abruptly as someone put their hand on his shoulder. He winced, expecting punishment, but it was Sirius, and to his relief, his godfather was grinning proudly, and his eyes were twinkling in a distinctly Dumbledore-esque fashion.

"Black!" Rita howled.

Sirius winked at Harry, before addressing her coolly.

"That's Lord Black to you Miss Skeeter. And what might I do for you?"

"Your godson did this to me, I demand an apology!"

"It looked to me as if your little goon here did it to you. Harry was just laughing from what I saw."

"He set my notebook on fire! He was trying to kill me!"

"I'm sure he won't be the last… And if it really was Harry, then where is the owl from the Ministry, giving him an official warning for under-age magic?"

Sirius looked round the hall theatrically, his voice changing to his most sarcastic.

"I can't see any owls Rita… Perhaps the Ministry doesn't view it as much of a crime to assault someone like you. Or perhaps it was one of your legions of admirers… I know that you have so many after all."

Rita snarled, a surprisingly vicious sound from the diminutive woman. She shook her head, sending water flying from her ruined hair. Harry was amused to note that the charm or potion that she used was fading under so much water. Her face was now streaked with yellow. She made quite a picture.

"Don't think you've heard the last of this, _my lord_."

"I wouldn't dare to Rita. Goodbye." Sirius waved her away pointedly.

Taking Harry by the shoulder, he led him away from the soaked journalist, Draco following, still sniggering. Sirius looked down at Harry, a curious look on his face.

"Did you do that?" he whispered.

Harry nodded. "She made me angry; I just lost control. You know how it is."

A grin broke out on his god-fathers face, and he ruffled Harry's hair in delight.

"This is genuinely one of the proudest moments of my life! You really are just like your dad sometimes you know that?"

Harry blushed under Sirius's praise, pretending not to notice Draco gagging theatrically.

* * *

It was a week later. There had been much consternation in the Dursley household when Rita's next article came out; she had written a rather spiteful piece about Harry and Sirius, denouncing them as 'arrogant snobs' guilty of several crimes. Harry thought it was hilarious, although his sentiment was not shared by his Aunt and Uncle. Of course, they didn't know the full story; they would not have approved of Harry letting Skeeter nearly catch fire, whether he had meant to use magic or not. Dudley had found the story incredibly exciting, in awe of his cousin's abilities.

However, Harry had rather more pressing concerns than a vindictive reporter.

His family and the Marauders had, naturally, been horrified by his experience in the Chamber of Secrets at the end of the school year (although desperately proud of him). Harry had found all the fuss rather annoying actually. He hadn't even had to go to the Hospital Wing, his wounds having been healed almost instantly by Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix; he had suffered more in the long-term through Quidditch.

But it had had one rather satisfactory outcome.

A week after his return from Hogwarts, he had been woken early in the morning – early for the holidays at least – by Peter's arrival. Quite apart from the early arrival, this was something of a surprise. Peter was the most distant of his guardians. Harry couldn't remember the last time he had just popped round by himself. He normally only appeared for special occasions or with the other Marauders.

This time, he was on his own, and dressed unusually shabbily. He actually made Remus look the height of sophistication, which was no easy task given the werewolf's financial and health position. And Peter had instructed Harry to dress in a similar fashion, commenting only that 'your clothes are going to get damaged'. And he was to bring his wand.

His curiosity aroused, Harry had dressed quickly, snatching some toast and juice before Peter had Apparated them both away from Privet Drive. They had reappeared in front of a dilapidated building that Harry vaguely recognised, although he wasn't sure where from. Peter stood in silence for a moment, his eyes misting over with some emotion that Harry didn't recognise.

"Welcome to the Dearborn household Harry." Peter said, quietly.

And Harry realised what he had seen in his guardian's eyes. A mix of regret and anger. Caradoc Dearborn had been a member of the Order of the Phoenix during the war against Voldemort, the Longbottom's secret keeper, and a close friend of the Potter's and the Marauders. He was also one of the only people who knew that Sirius was the Potter's secret keeper. And he hadn't been seen since the night Voldemort had attacked Godric's Hollow. He had been denounced as a traitor by the Order, and the Marauders would not even speak his name.

Harry recognised the house from old photos, taken before Dearborn's treachery had been discovered. He looked at it, puzzled. It was in a bad condition, but it wouldn't be too hard to fix it up so that it was habitable once more. But he couldn't imagine that being Peter's reason for bringing him here. So… Why?

He put the question to his guardian, and Peter smiled at him.

"It might be old Harry, but the wards are still strong. And of particular interest to us is the ward that will distort the Trace."

Harry blinked. He knew this… The Trace was…

"That's the spell that the Ministry uses to track under-age magic isn't it?"

Peter nodded, a proud gleam in his eye. He motioned Harry towards the door, which swung open with a creak, and he began to speak as they walked up the drive.

"That's right. Caradoc's father was something of a traditionalist, and he didn't want his son going off to Hogwarts under prepared. So he put up various wards that allowed Caradoc to practice magic at home. Not that he actually did of course, he was rather lazy… But the wards are still up, and Dumbledore's strengthened them for us."

"Well, that's great. Why?"

Peter sighed, shutting the door behind him.

"Harry, you're a smart boy, so try thinking will you? In the last two years, you've been attacked by Death Eaters and faced a memory of You-Know-Who himself. Do you really think that's a coincidence? Call me paranoid, but I don't. And you've got through those battles by luck, not by skill. Do you really think that you could stand up to a Death Eater attack by yourself?"

Harry stared at Peter, outraged.

"I have done! That time in the Forbidden Forest, no-one helped me then!"

Peter shrugged.

"You were unconscious for the end of that according to Hagrid. And you spent a month in a coma afterwards. But yes, you stood up to him by yourself. So perhaps I should say, do you really think that you can stand up to a Death Eater attack without being wounded so badly that you need a month to recover?"

Harry said nothing, and looked down at his feet. It was so unfair! He'd wanted to start training years ago, but he had always been told that there was no need for it, that he was too young. If they wouldn't train him, how could they expect him to duel well? Actually…

He raised his head.

"I have fought a duel, and I was barely injured at all!"

Peter looked surprised.

"Against who?"

"Against – against two fourth years." Harry muttered, his voice trailing off. He had to admit, it wasn't the most impressive achievement in the world, compared to duelling Death Eaters, however good it had felt at the time.

Peter chuckled, and Harry glared at him.

"Yes, I remember Sirius saying something about that. But how dangerous were they Harry? Truthfully?"

"Not very" Harry said in sullen tones.

Peter reached out to him, trying to ruffle his hair, but Harry ducked away. He sighed.

"Harry, I'm not trying to make you feel bad, or discredit what you've done. But you need to know how to duel; you really have survived through luck, and that might not be good enough next time. Even if there aren't any Death Eaters or basilisks around this year, you might run into trouble from the Knights at some point. We – that is, Remus, Sirius, Dumbledore and myself – feel that it would be a good idea for you to start training earlier than we had planned."

Harry scowled at the mention of the Knights of the Dark Lord – a group of thugs with pretensions of being Death Eaters. In truth, they were usually so talent-less that their attempts at causing chaos were barely noticed; they were dangerous only in numbers. Hell, Crabbe or Goyle could probably out-duel them one on one. Without training. That said, Harry knew that Peter was right. He had been _incredibly _lucky to survive in the past, and he wasn't entirely sure why he was making such a fuss now that training was being proposed. He had, after all, wanted to learn for ages. Just pride and good old Gryffindor defiance he supposed. He raised his head.

"I can duel Peter."

Peter just smiled.

"Show me."

* * *

Peter and Harry stood at opposite ends of the dining room, which was impressively long. Peter had moved the furniture to the sides of the room with a flick of his wand, and it made a passable duelling space. Harry stared into Peter's icy, cold blue eyes without flinching, determined to put on a good show for his guardian. Peter raised his wand in a salute, which Harry swiftly copied.

And then Peter was moving, diving to the side and firing off a string of spells as he moved.

Harry blinked in astonishment, momentarily frozen with astonishment that anyone could be that _fast_. And then he was ducking down, using the agility that marked him out as a Seeker. He stuck his wand out, crying out a Disarming charm, but Peter blocked it with contemptuous ease, retaliating with a non-verbal spell that stuck Harry's tongue to the roof of his mouth.

Harry cried out wordlessly, aiming his wand at his mouth, trying to force a Finite Incantatem to work, but Peter just wouldn't stop casting spells! Harry was dodging left and right, ducking, jumping, doing everything he could to avoid the spells heading relentlessly his way. Desperate, he dived over to the table, grabbing and throwing a plate in one swift movement. In the second it took Peter to destroy the plate, Harry was able to force enough magic through without an incantation to release his tongue.

Scowling darkly, and panting heavily, Harry refocused on Peter – just in time to raise a frantic shield, which did its job, but dissipated on contact with Peter's spell, instead of hovering until Harry dispelled it. Snarling in anger now, Harry threw all the power he could muster behind a _Flipendo_. Peter moved calmly a pace to the left, and the spell impacted against the wall with a flash of light.

And then Peter grinned.

Harry raised his wand, shouting his frustration, and cast spell after spell, all of which were ignored or blocked. Eventually, Peter cast another offensive spell, and Harry was yanked up into the air, before being hit by a Disarming charm, then dropped to the floor.

Harry sat there, panting heavily as Peter strolled over to him, clutching his wand. He had cast every spell he could think of, was more tired than he had any right to be – and he hadn't hit Peter once. Peter hadn't even broken sweat!

He sighed, flicking his sweat-drenched flop of hair out of his eyes. He tried to stand up, but gave up, realising that his legs weren't quite ready to support him yet. Peter sat down beside him, handing over his wand, patting him on the back.

"Better than I was expecting I have to say. You lasted a whole five minutes, I can't complain too much about that. You've got a good base to work from Harry; you're quick and you're agile, which is good. I actually had a bit of trouble hitting you. Well, sometimes anyway."

Harry glared at him, but this close, he could tell that his guardian's grin wasn't a mocking one. He nodded, closing his eyes in exhaustion. Then something occurred to him.

"That spell you used… the one which pulled me into the air. What was it? I've seen it before… That guy who attacked me in the Forest used it on me."

Peter looked at him sharply, a strange expression falling across his face.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Why?"

"Oh… It's just not that widely known outside a few people. But… he knew it."

"Who?"

"Caradoc Dearborn. It might be that he's returned from wherever he's been hiding."

And although Harry knew he should be worried about this, or at least angry, he was somewhat surprised to discover that what he was really feeling was eager anticipation.

* * *

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	3. A Dark and Stormy Nightmare

A/N: The title of this chapter comes from Neil Gaimen's 'Sandman'.

**Chapter 2: A Dark and Stormy Nightmare**

Harry opened his eyes.

He was lying on his back, staring up at the sky. It was a clear night, the stars twinkling brightly. He could feel a brisk wind against him. It was also extremely cold. He sat up, still gazing at the stars, shivering. Eventually, he looked around him, trying to work out where he was. He relaxed slightly as he realised that he was in the back garden at Privet Drive. But why was it so cold? It was the summer holiday, but it felt as if he was in the dungeons at Hogwarts during winter.

His breath misting in front of him, he stood up, making his way slowly back into the house. That was another thing. How had he wound up outside? Had he been sleepwalking? It had never happened before, but what else could it be? He crept through the kitchen, trying not to make any noise; his aunt and uncle would be very worried if they found out he was sleepwalking, which would result in some very boring fuss.

But he was unable to keep his cry of surprise quiet when he walked into the hall. The door of the under-stairs cupboard was frozen solid. He stepped nearer, and nearer, and recoiled as he realised that frost was forming on his pyjamas. It flaked away when he rubbed at it. Stepping forward once again, he reached out tentatively, touching the icy door.

He swore, yanking his hand away. The ice was so cold it was painful. He stood there, looking at it while he rubbed his hand, trying to sooth the pain. He itched to fetch his wand, and melt the ice, but he knew what would happen if he did. Perhaps there were some matches in the kitchen… He turned away, and that was when someone spoke.

_Let me out. Please, let me out._

Harry went very still, before turning back to the cupboard, very slowly. It hadn't changed. It was still covered in ice, but other than that, all was as it should be. He stepped forwards again, watching it warily.

Nothing happened.

He stretched out, ready to jump backwards. The ice still stung him, but there was no other reaction. Perhaps the voice had come from somewhere else? With a cautious look upstairs, Harry began to search the ground floor. Ten minutes later, he had looked in every room, every cupboard, every kitchen drawer. He was the only person there. Upstairs perhaps? He walked up the stairs, wincing with every creak of the steps, eyes wide open for movement.

Again, nothing. And it really was nothing; no-one was there, not even his family.

Attempts at stealth forgotten, Harry began to run round the house, calling for them, but the only reply was a repetition of the plea, _Let me out. Please, let me out_. Harry burst into his room, throwing his trunk open to get his wand, the plea still ringing in his ears.

_Please_

"Shut up" he muttered.

_Let me – _

"Shut up!"

_Please let me out!_

"SHUT UP!!"

There was a loud crack from downstairs.

Harry went very tense, his senses alert. He silently left his room, his wand raised. Reaching the stairs, he listened carefully. Down in the hall, there was a steady _drip, drip_. He crept down the stairs, his back to the wall, mimicking the way he had seen Sirius' cousin Tonks move on Auror training. There was still no-one there. He stepped off the stairs, and gasped as he trod in something wet.

He looked down at the floor. It was covered in water. Splashing slightly, he walked over to the door of the under-stairs cupboard. Nearer the door, there were large chunks of ice floating in the water, and although the door was still covered in ice, it was definitely a thinner layer. Harry reached out, touching the ice again. It wasn't as cold now. He stared at it in confusion, wondering what the hell was going on. And then the voice spoke again, less pleading, but much more sarcastic now.

_Well. It's a start I suppose._

* * *

Harry woke up.

He looked at his ceiling, blinking slightly in confusion, then he sat up, staring around him. The clock by his bed showed him that it was four in the morning, and he flopped back down with a groan. Just a dream. A weird, very confusing dream, but still nothing to worry about. He was used to weird dreams by now.

Despite this, he still got up, creeping round the landing, listening to the sounds of his family sleeping. Just in case.

* * *

"Harry! Hurry up, Sirius will be here any minute!"

Harry did a frantic last minute check of his room. Yes, he had everything he needed. Anything else would just have to be left behind. He would rather go without his possessions completely than wait around for Aunt Marge. Dudley was standing in the doorway, a grumpy look on his face, and Harry plastered a mock-sympathetic expression on his face. His cousin frowned in irritation.

"Wish I didn't have to stick around for her. How come you get to go?"

"Because when she's rude to you, you don't cause all kinds of spooky stuff to happen. That's the good thing about being a Muggle."

"It isn't as if she remembers what you did, she got – what is it?"

"Obliviated Dud. And no, I know she doesn't remember it, but that's the problem. She can't remember not to piss me off again, so it's better that I just get out of here."

Dudley scowled, putting his hands in his pockets and slouching against the door-frame.

"Wish I could give dogs wings…"

Harry looked up, a cheeky smile appearing briefly.

"Now, you know that I can't do that on demand. It was an accident, nothing more."

It had definitely been very funny though. His Aunt Marge was a vile woman; rude, arrogant and grotesque. She kept an equally foul dog, Ripper, as a pet. Every year, she would make the trip to Privet Drive to see her brother, who only put up with her because she was family. Apparently, she had been just about bearable before Harry's arrival at the house, but she had taken an immediate dislike to him. She hadn't liked Lily and James either, and fortunately had never met the other Marauders. However, four years ago, after a heavy meal and a large amount of alcohol, she had begun to rant about Harry. Too inebriated to listen to Vernon telling her to shut up, she had carried on, and on, until eventually Harry had snapped.

His magic had flared, and Ripper had suddenly sprouted enormous wings and razor sharp claws and fangs. Unable – and unwilling – to change him back, Harry had sat there laughing hysterically as Marge had raced around the house, trying to avoid her little darling. It wasn't as if Ripper was actually _trying_ to hurt her; he was just too stupid and panicked not to. It had taken half an hour for the Obliviators to turn up and set everything back to rights. Since then, even after being Obliviated, she had never overtly criticised Harry, although this was down to Vernon nearly casting her from the house rather than any preservation instinct; she couldn't remember her dog's transformation after all. It had still been deemed appropriate that Harry went somewhere else for the week that she stayed with them. Just in case.

Harry and Dudley looked at each other, remembering the incident happily. Then they both burst out laughing.

"Harry!" his aunt called again, and there was the sound of a motorcycle engine roaring outside.

Harry and Dudley grabbed the trunk, manoeuvring it down the stairs carefully to avoid Petunia's displeasure. At the bottom of the stairs, Sirius was whispering something in Petunia's ear; as he finished speaking, she clapped her hands in delight.

"Oh, that's marvellous. He'll be so thrilled!"

"Who will? What's marvellous?" Harry asked.

"Oh… you'll see later on, don't worry."

"Oh, but Aunt Petunia – "

"Later. Now you be good, and take care of yourself, understand?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but grinned at her good-naturedly.

"I always do Aunt Petunia. You know that."

"A likely story. Now do drive carefully Sirius – and don't take him flying on that thing! I wish you'd get a car, I really do…"

"But Petunia, the bike's much safer than any car! Its got all kinds of protective magic on it!" Sirius protested, winking at his godson.

Petunia shook her head in despair, but she was smiling gently. She bent down to hug Harry, holding him tight, before stepping back to let him go. Sirius shrunk Harry's trunk with a wave of his wand, and Harry put it into his pocket. They both bounded out of the house, and Harry leapt into the sidecar, strapping his helmet tight under his aunt's watchful gaze. The engine roared, and they were away, Harry waving at his aunt and cousin over his shoulder.

Three streets away, Sirius gave him a mischievous grin, and with a flick of a switch they were invisible and rising into the air. Harry began to laugh as the wind rushed over him.

A couple of hours later, they were swooping down to earth, not far from Sirius' flat in Muggle London. Although by rights Sirius ought to live in his family's house, Grimmauld Place, he had sworn never to go back there after running away, and even after his parent's death, his resolve held. There were simply too many bad memories there for him.

It was a shame really. Harry had been there once when he was younger – Sirius had needed some of his parent's documents, and had been unable to leave Harry alone – and he had rather liked it. Oh, the house-elf, Kreacher, was vile to him, due to his mixed blood, and there were some rather creepy things there, but Harry had found the house mysterious and exciting. And the portrait of Sirius's mother was frankly hilarious. He would have welcomed an opportunity to explore it fully, but he knew that opportunity would never arise.

After unpacking his things, Harry wandered into the kitchen, and was surprised to see Sirius preparing food – much more than they would be able to eat between the two of them. The table was also set, another rarity; Sirius normally ate alone, in a comfy chair, not formally. However, Sirius only grinned at his questions, telling him that he would 'find out later'. Sulking, Harry retreated to his room with a book.

A couple of hours later, Sirius called Harry down to set the table, telling him that their guests would be arriving soon. Harry was still puzzled. Sirius was dressed casually, so it wasn't a major party, but they never went to such extremes for Remus and Peter for example. However, ten minutes later, it turned out that Remus and Peter were precisely the people joining them. Harry was pleased to see them of course, but still puzzled by all the secrecy, not to mention Remus's uncharacteristically wide smile.

"What are you so pleased about? What's going on?" Harry demanded. Remus's smile just got wider.

"Let's just say that from now on you can address me as Professor Lupin Harry."

"What? You're coming to Hogwarts?"

"Yep. I'm the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher from September."

"That's fantastic!" Harry cried, a look of delight lighting up his face, before frowning. "But – what about your, you know, furry little problem?"

Remus's face seemed to split in two, his smile was so large.

"Dumbledore's going to get Severus to brew the Wolfsbane Potion for me." Seeing Harry's look of confusion, he elaborated. "It's a potion that will allow me to keep control of my mind when I transform. I'll still be dangerous, but only if I choose to be, and you know the likelihood of that!"

* * *

The celebration went on far longer than Harry would normally have been allowed to stay up at the Dursley's. Of course, that was one of the reasons Harry loved going to Sirius's place; his god-father was just responsible enough. After their meal (take-away – Sirius wasn't the strongest cook, and the food he had been preparing had taxed his abilities too far, nearly setting fire to the kitchen) they were all sitting in the front room, chatting amiably about nothing of consequence, the Wizarding Wireless chattering away in the background. Peter had just made Sirius turn red with embarrassment after recounting a story from their days at Hogwarts, when the music that had been playing was interrupted with a crackle of static.

"We interrupt this broadcast to bring you an urgent newsflash from the Ministry of Magic…"

The Marauders looked at each other in concern, having heard too many of these in the past. Suddenly, Cornelius Fudge's voice began to echo around them.

"It is with deep regret that I must announce the escape of the Death Eater Evan Rosier from Azkaban prison, at midnight last night. Several guards were killed in the incident, and it is believed that Rosier escaped with a stolen broom. His current whereabouts are unknown, although we can confirm that he is unarmed at present. However, he should still be considered extremely dangerous, and should not be approached under any circumstances…"

Peter swore quietly, drawing a disapproving look from Remus. Sirius had gone very still, and very pale. He looked terrified. Harry had never seen him looking like that in his life. Personally, he felt rather confused. Who was Evan Rosier? When he voiced the question, Sirius shuddered. Remus answered him in grim tones.

"He was part of the Inner Circle, probably one of the two most trusted Death Eaters next to Bellatrix Lestrange. He was incredibly sadistic, incredibly violent, and borderline insane before he went into Azkaban. I dread to think what he's like after twelve years of being exposed to the Dementors…"

Silence fell across the room, and then Sirius spoke, almost whispering.

"He was one of the people who tortured the information about James and Lily out of me."

Harry felt a spike of hatred jab through him, uncharacteristically strong even for the subject. Remus reached over to Sirius, trying to draw him out of the painful memories. Harry looked over at Peter, who was sitting there, an almost blank expression on his face, and his thoughts went to his training. He had improved quite a bit under Peter's tutelage, but not as much as he should have done.

He would do better.

* * *

It was two days later. Peter and Sirius had been called to Hogwarts for a meeting with Dumbledore, and Harry and Remus were heading for a day out. They had arranged to meet the Weasleys in Diagon Alley, before moving onto Kentigern, a dimensional extension in the north. Hermione was still on holiday with her family, waiting for their annual summer camp to end, otherwise she would have been there, as would Neville. However, his grandmother didn't approve of Kentigern – it was far too common for the proud Longbottom family apparently.

In between catching up with his friends – Fred and George had joked about Penelope Clearwater once too often, resulting in him jinxing them, and they couldn't decide whether they were shocked or delighted – Harry was troubled by the rather tense atmosphere around them. The district was just as busy as normal, but far quieter, the shoppers occasionally looking over their shoulders nervously. He pointed this out, and Fred and George nodded, suddenly looking uncharacteristically serious.

"It's 'cause of Rosier."

"Yeah, he's really got everyone worried – "

" – because no-one's ever broken out of Azkaban before."

"And Dad was saying that the Minister's letting the Dementors off Azkaban to help search for him!"

Harry halted where he stood, staring open-mouthed at them.

"What? You're joking! Is he insane?"

While Fred and George appeared to give this matter serious consideration, Ginny spoke up.

"I'm sure they'll be controlled, they wouldn't be allowed out if they were dangerous, would they?"

"Ginny, Dementors can't help being dangerous; it isn't as if they can control the way they suck the happiness out of you, it just kinda… happens."

She looked sceptical.

"If they're so awful, how come the Ministry employs them?"

"Better to have them inside pissing out then outside pissing in little sister." said Fred – George? Probably Fred, his jumper had a G on it – clapping her on the back heartily. "And of course, there's the small matter of Fudge not being worth his weight in gold."

Harry shrugged.

"Oh I don't know. Have you seen him? He isn't exactly skinny is he, he'd probably be quite heavy if you converted him to gold… Actually, is there a transfiguration spell for that do you think?"

George sniggered.

"If you can pull that one off, we'll give up our titles as pranksters extraordinaire young Harry. We look forward to reading about it in the court papers."

The image of Harry transfiguring the Minister on a whim sustained their good mood for another half hour or so, during which much shopping was done. Harry and Ron were feigning mortal injuries, much to Ginny's annoyance. Her mood was not improved by the fact that she couldn't cast magic at them. Of course, she was perfectly willing to resort to more physical measures, and did so with relish. Shortly afterwards, they were all walking up the street – or limping in Ron's case, while Harry was wheezing slightly – still chattering aimlessly, Remus overseeing it all with a genial smile. As they walked, Harry gradually became aware that he could see his breath misting in front of his mouth, and he stopped, breathing heavily in confusion. It was August for heaven's sake! Merlin knew that British summer was something of a misnomer, but this was ridiculous.

Then he saw that Remus had drawn his wand.

"Moony? What – "

And then the windows in the shops began to ice over, and Harry fell to his knees in shock.

_No, please, not Harry!_

_Stand aside you foolish girl, and I might even spare your life._

_Go to hell!_

_Crucio!_

_Screams, dreadful screams, and then the high, cold voice once more, taunting her. She – his mother – cried out a spell,__but the cold voice just laughed._

_There was a flash of green light._

Harry opened his eyes, sweating, and feeling as if a ball of ice had taken up permanent residence in his stomach. He shuddered, looking around. Remus was aiming his wand at – something, something foul. As Harry stared at it, it seemed to meet his eyes. With a gasp, Harry felt something being sucked out of him, and his mother's screaming echoed in his ears again. His magic bucked in response, he could feel it rippling under his skin, trying to lash out against the foulness in front of him, to stop it hurting him, but he didn't know how, didn't know what it was, and now it was hurting Ginny as well, she was falling to the floor, her eyes screwed shut, and his mother wouldn't stop _screaming_ in his ears –

_Expecto Patronum_

White magic flared from his body, from his fingertips, his eyes, his mouth. It went flooding past Remus, and hit the foul, insubstantial creature in the chest, sending it flying backwards. The ice on the windows cracked, and the sense of foulness left him, gradually. He was able to stagger to his feet, and he looked at Remus in terror.

"What… What the bloody hell was that?"

Remus looked at him grimly, not to mention a certain amount to puzzlement.

"That was one of the Dementors of Azkaban. Lovely things aren't they?"

Harry shook his head, unable to speak. He couldn't believe that the Ministry would use things like that, not even Fudge! He was pulled from his reflections by the sound of sniffling. He looked up, and saw that Ginny was crying gently. Ron and the twins were trying to comfort her, but they didn't seem to be getting through to her at all. He stumbled over, as Remus hurried over to a nearby shop, fumbling for some money. Ginny looked at him as he kneeled down.

"I was back there… it was awful."

He rubbed her back, whispering to her.

"It's just a memory, it's not real."

The three of them spent some time bringing Ginny out of her shell before Remus returned, clutching a stack of chocolate. They sat there, nibbling at it, and soon Ginny's colour had returned. As they ate, Remus looked at Harry.

"Good job Harry, but I didn't realise you knew the Patronus Charm. And I've never seen it performed without a wand… Instinctual magic perhaps? There are theories that magic can be sentient at times…" Remus trailed off into quiet musings on how Harry had managed to cast the spell.

Harry frowned in confusion. He didn't remember casting any magic. And what was the Patronus Charm? He shrugged, going back to his chocolate. A matter for another day perhaps.

* * *

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	4. Soul Searching

**Chapter 3: Soul-Searching**

Peter and Sirius strolled up the pathway to Hogwarts School, mulling over possible reasons for their summons. Anyone looking at them would have thought it a comfortable silence. Those viewers would not have seen the Marauders during their school days. If they had, they would have said that the silence was the awkward one of two friends who had drifted too far apart to truly reconcile. Oh, the two wizards were on perfectly good terms, but Peter had always been something of a tag-along to the group, even at school, and during the war – well, Sirius had never felt entirely comfortable around Peter after the war, unless someone else was there to balance them. Peter had done some… dangerous things during the war, and had trod the exceptionally thin line between Light and Dark. Sirius had always professed a more simplistic view of the difference between Light and Dark than his godson, and refused to listen when the idea of a 'middle-darkness' was voiced. Dark was dangerous. Light wasn't. It was that simple.

Perhaps it was just the lingering trauma of the torture, but whenever Sirius was around someone who trod that line, he felt that he could see in their eyes, _How can I hurt this person?_ And given Peter's actions during the war…

They walked through the castle, barely acknowledging Filch, and sending Peeves cursing off into the distance with the handy spell that Remus had taught them in their fifth year, grinning at each other in a rare moment of mutual pleasure. Nostalgia was about the only area the two of them could absolutely agree with each other any more. They approached the gargoyle outside the Headmaster's office, and it moved aside as they drew near. Climbing the staircase, the door flew open just as Peter raised his hand to knock, drawing a snort of weary amusement from Sirius. The old headmaster had used that trick when they were students, and its effect was much less impressive now. Dumbledore smiled at them, beckoning them in with a sweep of his hands.

"Ah, welcome to you both! I trust your journey was satisfactory?"

Peter shrugged as he sat down, his cold blue eyes an unsettling contrast to Dumbledore's own twinkling eyes.

"Not too bad. Sirius spent a frankly unreasonable amount of time making sure his hair and robes matched, but other than that…"

Sirius smiled, appreciating the effort. With someone else around, it was as if there was a filter between Peter's perceived Darkness and himself. The friendship worked, for a time. He joined in the banter, knowing Albus would take his time getting to the heart of the matter in any case.

"Well at least I make the effort. You and Remus would have difficulty even spelling style."

Dumbledore chuckled, his beard quivering.

"Well, speaking as someone who has managed to set the trend for formalwear for several years now…"

Peter and Sirius looked at Dumbledore's robes, a stunning combination of brown and orange. They nodded dubiously, both privately thinking about the hazards of a long life spent around magic on your mental health.

"You like them? The only other person to comment has been Severus, and as you know, he isn't a fan of anything on the lighter side of the spectrum."

Peter smiled faintly, while Sirius's lip curled in familiar distaste.

"Now, to business. I have an urgent mission for you."

"A mission? What's going on?" Peter asked, concern colouring his voice.

"Nothing, at present. But I am sure I am not alone in thinking the events of the last two years are a co-incidence?"

The Marauders both nodded, and Sirius tensed nervously. Something bad was coming, he could tell.

"We are still no closer to discovering the culprit behind the diary, or indeed Quirrell's mysterious accomplice, if indeed they are different people. And given the rise in activity from the Winter Shades recently… Well, needless to say, I am rather concerned."

Peter nodded in understanding. Sirius remained still, waiting for the hammer to fall.

"During my enforced absence from the school a few months ago, I decided to take a holiday. Have either of you ever been to Albania?"

They shook their heads, looking at each other curiously.

"Well, I would like you to go there as soon as possible. It is my belief that it is there that we will locate Voldemort."

Sirius tensed again at the name. He noticed that Peter did as well, although the other wizard had long since schooled himself into only tensing his wand hand if the Dark Lord's name was mentioned in his hearing. Something to be proud of and envied he supposed. Then everything that Dumbledore had said registered.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?"

"That I think we can be sure of finding Voldemort somewhere in Albania, and I would like you to go and find out as much as you can. Given the breakout recently, it is imperative that we find him – if we can."

Seeing that Sirius looked barely capable of breathing at present, let alone speaking, Peter spoke.

"I can leave any time – but it won't be easy. Potentially dangerous as well."

Dumbledore frowned mildly at him.

"I am well aware of the possible dangers Peter. But I can think of no two people better suited to the task. Well, perhaps myself, in my younger days, but now… Best left to the younger generation I think."

Peter thought for a moment, and then nodded in agreement. Dumbledore smiled at him gratefully, then both wizards turned to Sirius. He hung his head slightly, his hair falling over his eyes, apparently trying to work past the fear. Then he looked up.

"Someone's got to find him. Better us than Rosier."

"Spoken like a true Marauder." Peter murmured, and Dumbledore gave a pleased nod. He was reaching for some more information when a silvery wolf burst through the wall, and Remus's Patronus began to tell them all about the Dementor in Diagon Alley. All thoughts of Albania were thrown from their minds.

* * *

It was the 1st of September, and Harry and his friends were on their way to Hogwarts. Ron was telling Hermione and Neville about the Dementor attack, with almost indecent enthusiasm. Harry and Ginny were sitting in silence, preferring not to think about it. By the end of Ron's tale, Hermione was pale with anger, while Neville merely looked gloomy.

"That's appalling!" Hermione cried out as Ron finished speaking. "How can the Ministry be that stupid? Why would they even employ creatures like that?"

"Because it's better to have them on our side than not. They could cause a lot of damage if we just let them run wild; Remus says there's no sure way to destroy them, and the only spell that can hurt them is incredibly difficult to cast. And hey, who cares about morality where Death Eaters are concerned?" Harry said, in tones of deep sarcasm.

Neville looked at him questioningly.

"Since when do you get sympathetic about Death Eaters?"

"I'm not. I just think there are more appropriate ways to punish them than slowly stripping them of everything that makes them human over several years. It's barbaric, and it takes us right down to their level."

"Some of them deserve it." Neville said flatly. There was no arguing with someone speaking like that. Harry and Ron both knew the reason Neville lived with his grandmother, although Hermione was looking on, uncharacteristically bewildered; they also knew that he thought, arguably with some justification, that Bellatrix Lestrange had got off lightly when she was sentenced to life in Azkaban. Looking at Harry uncomfortably, Ron began to steer the conversation in another direction.

"Yeah, well, they're horrible. I don't know precisely what it is they do, but I just felt awful. Like I couldn't remember what being happy felt like. And – this was weird – it was like I could see this spider in front of me. Merlin knows why."

"They make you relive your worst memories." Harry told him absently. He rather wished his friend would stop talking; the conversation was making him hear his mother's screams again.

"Seriously? Bloody hell that's nasty. Must have been when Fred… Well, anyway, not nice. Hey, Hermione, what do you think you'd remember?"

"It's hardly any of your – Ginny?"

The young redhead ran out of the compartment, slamming the door behind her. Harry glowered at Ron, incensed.

"Oh nice Ron. It's not as if she's had any particularly traumatic experiences in the last year or so is it?"

Ron went white. He stood to go after her, but Harry pushed him back down.

"I'll go. Don't want her throwing herself off the train do we?"

Harry walked down the corridor, looking into each of the compartments for Ginny. He eventually found her in an empty compartment near the Prefect's carriage, hunched up on the seat by the window. She sniffled as he walked in, locking the door with his wand. He sat next to her in silence for a minute or so, before she had calmed down enough to speak.

"Sorry. I just… I didn't like remembering it."

"Don't worry about it. Ron needs to think a little more carefully before he speaks sometimes. It was obvious that it affected you badly."

Ginny shrugged. Harry looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Do you mind if I ask what you saw when it attacked us?"

Ginny tensed.

"You don't have to, I just want to know if I can help." Harry told her hurriedly. She was silent for another moment, and then:

"Since you destroyed that diary I've been getting flashes of what happened while I was possessed. I keep remembering Mrs Norris, and the roosters. And when that Dementor appeared, I remembered Zach."

Harry put his arm around her, staying silent. Zacharias Smith. A rather strange Hufflepuff student who had died the previous year; the Basilisk commanded by Tom Riddle-as-Ginny had chased him off the grand staircase, resulting in the young boy suffering grievous injuries, from which he had not recovered.

"It wasn't your fault Gin-"

"I know that Harry! But it's still a bloody awful memory!"

Harry went silent for a moment, somewhat nonplussed by this. Last time they had spoken about Zacharias, Ginny had blamed herself for his death. He had expected remnants of that blame to remain, but Ginny was apparently made of far stronger stuff than he had believed. As he sat there, Ginny shook herself, sitting up straight. She looked at Harry, a concerned look on her face.

"What about you? If you don't mind me asking…"

Harry swallowed.

"I – I heard my mum. Just before she was… You know."

Ginny gasped, and clasped Harry's hand tightly. He carried on speaking, without emotion or inflection.

"I could hear her screaming, and fighting him… and he just laughed at her… I really hate him. I really do."

"Well, you've already beaten him. There isn't a lot more you can do to work that hate off you know."

Harry gave her a small smile.

"Guess not. I might actually have to live a full, successful and well-rounded life, instead of wasting it in an obsessive quest."

"Poor you."

* * *

Harry shivered as their carriage passed through the gate to the school grounds. For a moment, it had felt unnervingly like a wave of ice water had just washed over them, and his returning good mood dimmed slightly. He saw the others wince as well, which worried him slightly. However, it faded within seconds, and he put it to the back of his mind. Ron was waxing lyrical about the upcoming feast; he claimed to be starving, despite the mountain of chocolate and sweets he had worked his way through on the train. He had generously donated some to Ginny by way of apology, unaware that she had already forgiven him. Still, he hadn't complained when she had told him, giggling. Hermione had been rather vocal while Harry and Ginny where out of the compartment, and it was not an experience he wanted to repeat anytime soon.

They walked into the hall, waving at people they knew. Harry caught sight of Theodore Nott sitting at the Slytherin table; the pale boy looked up, and scowled. Harry turned away, rolling his eyes. As he looked around the hall, he saw Remus sitting at the staff table, and he grinned, giving him an encouraging wave. The Marauder was sitting next to Snape for some reason; the Potions Master did not look very happy about the arrangement. He was looking at Remus in hatred – and was that a hint of fear? Harry supposed the staff would know about Remus being a werewolf. Actually, hadn't he said something about Snape brewing the Wolfsbane potion for him? Maybe the greasy wizard didn't like werewolves very much.

Silence fell over the hall for the Sorting; the Hat's song made no more sense than it ever did to Harry's ears, but at least it had a good voice. After Dumbledore's opening few words ("Effervescent, incandescent, mellifluous, and coruscating" this year for some reason) the feast got underway. Much of the conversation revolved, unsurprisingly, around the escape of Evan Rosier. Nothing had been heard about him for weeks now, which was almost as worrying as if he'd been constantly in the news. At least then people could have made a guess at what he planned to do. Actually, Harry could make a fairly good guess, although not one he cared to share with his friends. He had a feeling that mentioning Voldemort's continued existence would be a very effective conversation killer. Despite the messages from Voldemort that had been burned into the castle walls last year, most people still believed him dead.

As the feast drew to a close, Dumbledore stood up, his hands spread in welcome. Silence fell quickly, and all eyes turned to face him. He smiled benevolently at them, before beginning his speech.

"Welcome, welcome all of you, to another year at Hogwarts. Welcome especially to those of you joining us for the first time. I most sincerely hope that you are all ready to enjoy a successful and educational year with us!

"As always, there are some introductions to be made and notices to be given out. As some of you no doubt know, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Professor Kettleburn, retired at the end of the previous year to enjoy some well earned quality time with the few undamaged parts of his body left; I am sure we all wish him the very best. Taking his place will be our very own Rubeus Hagrid!"

There was a roar of applause, although mainly from the Gryffindors. Harry himself felt some reservations; Hagrid was brilliant with animals, and one of the nicest people you could ever hope to meet, but a _teacher_? This was the man – well, half-giant – who had tried to raise a dragon in his wooden house the previous year. Fortunately, Dumbledore had taken steps to remove it before any damage was caused. Still, they were probably still safer with Hagrid than any of the DADA teachers they had had so far, so he shouldn't complain.

"And, as has become customary, I must also welcome our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin!"

Harry clapped so hard he thought he would injure his hands, as did the Weasley's, all of whom had met Remus many times before. Harry could see him smile shyly as the other Gryffindors followed their lead. Dumbledore began to speak again.

"Yes, welcome, and let us hope that you have more stamina than your predecessors! In notices, I have one very serious message for you all. I have no doubt that you have all heard by now of Evan Rosier, recently escaped from Azkaban. The Ministry feels that there is a risk that he will try and attack Hogwarts – personally, I disagree, and even if he were to try, it would be a pointless effort. However, the Ministry has decreed that Hogwarts, and indeed the village of Hogsmeade, will be patrolled until further notice by the Dementors of Azkaban. Some of you will have heard about the incident in Diagon Alley a few weeks ago; this should impress the danger on all of you. Dementors have no concept of mercy, or of understanding. Their movements are restricted, but if you stray into their path then they will hurt you. I must therefore urge you all to take the rules about curfew and the Forbidden Forest in the utmost seriousness. Do not take these creatures lightly."

There was a deep hush across the hall. Many of the lower years looked terrified, and Harry noticed a newly-sorted Ravenclaw quietly crying; the Ravenclaw seeker, Cho Chang, was comforting her. Dumbledore smiled.

"However, you should not let such dark tidings cloud your minds too much! Misery can always be dispelled by light…"

With a wave of his hand, the hundreds of candles floating above their heads flared brightly. Fire streamed from candle to candle, leaping into the air and forming strange and wonderful shapes. Laughter began to trickle around the hall, and Dumbledore sat down. As the students began to leave the hall for their respective dormitories, Hermione suddenly grabbed his shoulder.

"I just realised; I don't know what subject's we're all doing! I'm doing all the basics obviously, and I'll be doing Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Divination, Muggle Studies, and Care of Magical Creatures. What about you?"

Harry frowned.

"Hermione, that's all the subjects you can take until NEWT level. Why – how – are you taking all of those?"

"Because they're all very interesting, you never know which ones you'll need in the future! And I've worked it all out with McGonagall, don't worry. What about you?"

"Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes and Divination."

Neville looked at him, puzzled.

"Harry, you don't believe in divination…"

"True. But I've heard about Trelawney, apparently she's single-handedly turned it into the easiest subject in the school. I'm not one to turn down an easy option when it presents itself."

"That's a very bad attitude Harry!"

"Hermione, I have enough difficulty with Muggle maths, so Arithmancy is definitely out. And Muggle Studies is a joke – besides which, I live with Muggles. Why do I need to learn about them? So do you for that matter, why are you taking it?"

"Well, I think the Wizarding perspective is very interesting… But you're still being irresponsible Harry!"

"All the skills I'm likely to need I can learn in the basic classes up until NEWT level Hermione. Why make life more difficult for myself? I just want a nice, quiet year this time. My biggest problem is going to be homework or Quidditch, I haven't decided which yet."

Hermione didn't seem too impressed with this answer, but she said nothing. The Gryffindors sat in the common room till midnight catching up with the people they hadn't seen over the summer, before slowly trailing off to bed. Harry settled down for a peaceful night's sleep. Before he drifted off, he clutched a good luck charm he had picked up a few years ago. It was debatable whether they really worked, but nevertheless, he held it tightly, concentrating heavily on the idea of a peaceful, safe year. He fell asleep knowing that he had done all he could, and quietly confident.

* * *

A/N: Sorry not much happens; transition chapters are sometimes necessary though. More action next time I promise! Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	5. Here Comes The Fear Again

**Chapter 4: Here Comes the Fear Again**

Harry's hopes of a peaceful nights sleep were sadly thwarted. Shortly after he fell asleep, he began to dream. Nothing unusual at first, at least by Harry's standards – for some reason Hagrid was dancing the polka with Professor Snape, which was admittedly rather disturbing – but then they shifted, moving to a strangely familiar landscape. It wasn't anywhere he had been before, he knew that. Could he have dreamed it before? He was standing on a cliff-top, over-looking the sea. He could hear the wind whispering in his ears as he watched the sea-creatures play beneath him. Wait. That wasn't the wind…

Harry listened carefully, and could just about make out a voice, speaking to him through the wind. _**Mighty One…**_ The same phrase repeated over and over again. Harry frowned. Mighty One? Oh yeah, the Sorting Hat had called him that. And various snakes had as well. He remembered Dumbledore telling him that it was a term of respect at the end of the previous year, although he suspected that the Headmaster hadn't been one hundred percent truthful with him. But this dream… It was definitely familiar – had he dreamt it before?

Harry sat down, watching the seascape with interest. The whispering continued, but he barely paid any attention. What was the point, he thought, in listening to compliments that you were paying yourself? After awhile though, the land around him began to ripple. Subtly at first, but noticeable. The cliff shuddered, and then everything was still. Looking around in confusion, Harry began to feel as if he was being watched. The whispering continued, slightly louder now. There was a snort of laughter.

"Mighty One? Merlin, you're arrogant aren't you? I mean, if you were some pampered pureblood heir I could at least understand where it comes from… But you seem to have your head screwed on properly. And I should know, believe me."

Harry whirled round, his eyes scanning his surroundings. There was no-one there. But it was definitely getting colder, and the ground was beginning to ripple again.

"Not very quick on the uptake are you boy? Isn't it a bit obvious what's happening? Come on, I know you've heard me before…"

And then it came to him. He _had_ heard the voice. In his dream back at Privet Drive, with the ice-covered door to the cupboard, and someone pleading to be let out.

"Yep. That's the one. Well done, we got there in the end didn't we?"

Harry tensed. A mind-reader?"

"Well, kind of… but I don't really have a lot of choice where you're concerned…"

Harry instinctively went for his wand, only to find that it wasn't in his pocket. He felt a flicker of fear.

"Honestly, do they teach you nothing? This is your dream Harry. If you want your wand – not that you need it – then just think of yourself with it. It'll appear."

Harry concentrated, and sure enough, his wand appeared in his hand. He raised it into a duelling position, a spell on his lips, ready to defend himself.

"Well done. Now, what are you going to curse?"

Harry blinked, and then slipped out of his en garde position, feeling a little foolish. The voice was right – he was alone as far as he could see. The cliff was still rippling, much more quickly now, and then, with a quiet pop, he was no longer standing there. Instead, he was in the back garden at Privet Drive. With a sense of resignation, he walked through the kitchen to the hall. Sure enough, the cupboard under the stairs was covered in ice. Water was dripping off it every few seconds as it melted.

Harry reached out to touch it. This time, he could clearly sense the magic behind it – his own, or the magic of whatever – whoever? – had put the ice there? And how had it happened anyway?

"Yes, there we are. A regular home from home. Of course, it isn't very interesting, and it's bloody freezing, but at least I've got a roof over my head. Mustn't grumble. However, if you could see your way to melting the ice for me…?"

Harry instinctively cast a burning charm at the ice, before cancelling it swiftly.

"Why? I don't even know who you are, I might be hurting myself if I melt this. How did a load of ice end up in my mind anyway?"

"Merlin… The ice isn't really there you bloody idiot. It's just a representation of the magic keeping me locked up. And, since it seems to have slipped your mind, your magic. Or had you forgotten that this door leads to your magical core when you're here?"

Harry frowned. He had forgotten that actually. Was he really helping to unblock his magic by melting the ice? He raised his wand again, but lowered it. He was torn. How could he trust a voice in his head? It wasn't as if it sounded anything like his own voice…

"Well clearly I'm not _you_. You aren't trapped behind this thing are you? Look, you let me out of here, I'll leave you alone ok? Does that sound reasonable? You melt some ice, I can leave and you can sleep through a night with only your own messed up dreams to bother you. I won't even think your name again. Ok?"

Harry thought for a moment. He definitely didn't like this person all that much; and he had the nerve to call Harry arrogant! But still… He could be dangerous.

"Do I sound dangerous to you?"

Harry ignored him. Then he shrugged. Whatever this voice was, if it was dangerous, it would be easier to fight if it wasn't in his head at the time. That basically made the decision for him.

"So pleased. Now, if you'd be so kind?"

Harry hit the ice with another burning charm, holding the magic this time. As more ice melted, he felt his magic flare.

He opened his eyes.

It was seven in the morning, and he was in the dormitory he shared with the other boys in his year. Speaking of the others… they were shouting in confusion. Harry flung his bed-curtains open, and gasped in shock.

The room was filled with butterflies. Hundreds of them. And Harry, worryingly, could feel his magic, still active. He quietly cast _'Finite Incantatem'_, and the butterflies faded from existence. The other boys looked at him, expressions varying from confused to angry to concerned. Ron spoke.

"What just happened?"

"I think I had a bad dream, lost control of my magic… Sorry guys."

Seamus rolled his eyes, and walked out of the room, towel over his shoulder. Ron rolled his eyes and flopped back into bed, asleep again before he had hit the pillow. Dean and Neville just shrugged. Neville leaned over to his friend.

"What were you dreaming about?"

Harry frowned. "I – I can't remember. There was a cliff… and some ice. That's all I can remember."

* * *

Harry was uncharacteristically quiet over breakfast. The fact that he couldn't remember his dream – or was it dreams? – was bothering him for some reason. He had a feeling that the memory might be important. His friends tried to engage him in conversation, but eventually gave up. However, nothing could protect him from Hermione's analysis of their timetable as McGonagall handed them out.

"So, Divination, Transfiguration, Care Of Magical Creatures, Defence Against the Dark Arts… Packed day, but what a way to start the year! Two new subjects, three new teachers… It's very exciting!"

Harry and Ron looked at each other. Their expressions were not one of deep interest, although Harry was admittedly looking forward to lessons with Remus. However, Neville was willing enough to engage her in conversation, and they were soon swapping rumours about Trelawney, the Divination professor. Harry had already heard plenty about her from the Marauders, who had met her several times since she had been hired. It had not impressed him, but then, neither did the subject, so he didn't much care. Hermione and Neville were discussing dream interpretation, when Ron suddenly spoke up.

"Hey, we should get Harry to write a dream diary for her, she'd love it! Especially if this morning's evidence is to go by…"

Hermione turned to Harry so fast that he thought she was going to get whiplash.

"And what's that supposed to mean? Have you been having strange dreams again Harry?"

Harry glared at Ron before he replied.

"I don't know Hermione, I can't remember it. Whatever it was about though, I lost control of my magic a bit."

"A bit? You conjured about a hundred butterflies mate, that's more than a bit."

"Thanks Ron, your input is greatly appreciated, trust me."

Hermione put her hand over Harry's, her eyes shining with concern.

"Harry, if you're having strange dreams, then you ought to go to Dumbledore. He can help you."

"I don't even know if I need help – and I can take care of myself Hermione, you know that."

"Yes, but Dumbledore-" Harry wrenched his hand away.

"I'm fine. Look, can we just forget about it? I've always had weird dreams, this is nothing to worry about."

Silence fell for a moment. Hermione looked slightly hurt by Harry's abrupt dismissal, and he felt a twinge of shame. She was only trying to help after all.

"Sorry." He muttered. Hermione said nothing, but she did look mollified. Neville pulled her timetable out of her hand, a puzzled expression in his face.

"Hermione, how are you going to be taking two lessons at the same time? Arithmancy is at the same time as Divination."

"I told you all last night, I've organised it all with McGonagall, and don't be nosy."

"But you can't be in two places at once Hermione-"

Hermione glared at him.

"Don't worry Neville. It's all sorted out ok?"

Neville and Ron looked at each other, utterly bemused by their friend's irritable replies. Ron shook his head.

"Come on, let's get to Divination. Or Arithmancy as it might be."

* * *

The walk to Divination had been a long one, albeit one enlivened by their discovery of the portrait of Sir Cadagon, a portly knight who could barely lift his sword or climb onto his horse. He had been rather amusing, and his enthusiasm had lifted the group's spirits; they had been somewhat subdued on leaving breakfast. By the time they arrived at the north tower, they were all out of breath, and were somewhat irritated to find that there was apparently no classroom in the corridor they had listed. Several other students were standing around, with similar looks of befuddlement plastered on their faces. Hermione looked around.

"Well, I'm sure Professor McGonagall can't have got it wrong…"

Her friends exchanged grins at her absolute trust in authority, but any reply was interrupted by a rope-ladder appearing in mid-air. Lavender Brown, standing behind them, gasped in shock. Harry looked upwards, and saw a trapdoor. He could smell incense coming through it. He looked at the ladder dubiously. Ron gestured at it.

"Lead on then. You are the Boy-Who-Lived…"

Harry stuck his tongue out, but set his foot on the ladder, and climbed up. He could barely see in the classroom there was so much incense smoke. All of a sudden, someone stumbled through the thick smoke, her eyes goggling at him and her hands waving randomly around her.

"Welcome, welcome Mr Potter!"

Harry blinked. The woman was rather alarming. She hadn't stopped speaking though.

"So good to see that you are thinking of the future, I am sure that destiny will be most interested in you! Come, take a seat – ah, come in all of you! Such a pleasure to see so many of you willing to step beyond the veil and uncover the mysteries and wonders of the universe!"

Harry and the others walked quickly to their seats, staring in astonishment at the frankly bizarre woman conducting them in. She had a glazed smile on her face, and couldn't seem to see where she was going, despite her enormous glasses. Her introductory speech made an equally memorable impression. Harry could admit that he may possibly have been biased against her by the Marauders information about her, but it didn't take Hermione-like levels of intelligence to see that Professor Trelawney was not playing with a full deck. Harry was amused to see Hermione's expression of eager interest gradually sink into incredulity, especially when Trelawney told them they would be starting with reading tea-leaves. She leant over to Neville as Trelawney turned away to put the kettle on.

"Do wizards _really_ read tea-leaves? I thought that was just a Muggle story!" Neville shrugged.

"Well, some do obviously. But my gran reckons that you're born with the ability to See the future, you can't learn it. She was really angry when she heard I'd signed up for this, thinks it's a waste of time. Mind you, she was pleased that I'd have at least one other subject besides Herbology where I'd be getting good marks, so that's a bonus."

Hermione gave him another incredulous stare. Neville didn't talk about his family much, although she was aware that he didn't live with his parents for some reason. She couldn't understand his gran being so unsupportive though, and said so.

"Well, she was really proud of my dad, he was a great wizard – an Auror actually. And well, I haven't quite lived up to her expectations yet."

Hermione scowled. "That's appalling! You're a great wizard Neville-"

"Here we go dears, one cup of tea each. Drink up!"

For the first time in living memory, Hermione glared at a teacher. She was in no mood to fiddle around with tea-leaves now. Still, Neville seemed keen to leave the topic alone, and there was work to do. She paired up with him, as Harry and Ron polished off their own cups. She raised her cup, and drank.

She spat it out. Harry began to snigger.

"Not great is it? Just tip it on the floor, no-one'll notice."

She followed his advice, a grimace of distaste on her face. Harry grinned at her, then picked up Ron's cup, examining the dregs closely.

"So, what do you see?" Ron asked him.

"They're brown. And tea-leaf like. That's the best I've got to be honest. You see anything in mine?"

Ron shrugged, and looked down.

"Well, that could be an owl… that could be a sun. So that's… wisdom and happiness." He looked up. "Merlin, you're going to turn into Hermione!"

Harry sniggered.

"Nice work mate."

"You have a go if you're so good at it!"

"Alright… Wait, is that a sheep? Yeah, a sheep – looks like it's dancing on a cloud."

Ron let out a loud snort of laughter, and Trelawney popped up beside them, her smile rather less glazed now.

"Now now, pay attention boys. What can you see?"

"Well, Harry's got an owl and a sun I think…"

Trelawney nodded. "A very pleasing combination Mr Potter. May I see?" She looked into the mug with interest, and then surprise. "My dear boy, that is a raven, not an owl! An omen of darkness!"

"Figures" Harry muttered. Unfortunately, Trelawney heard him.

"Mr Potter, you should not be flippant about this! Treat it with the utmost caution, you could be in great danger!"

Silence fell over the room, and Harry could feel his classmates staring at him. He sat back, giving his cup a sceptical gaze. He couldn't truly take Trelawney seriously, she was far too theatrical. He could see why she was seen as a fraud. She had now picked up Ron's cup, and was examining the tea-leaves. And then she screamed, throwing it to the floor.

"My dear… You have a Grim!"

There were gasps of shock around the room, and Ron himself looked startled. Lavender Brown actually screamed, much to Harry's annoyance – not to mention confusion. He could see that Hermione was just as puzzled as he was, which comforted him slightly. Trelawney dismissed them early, in a rather vague fashion, apparently terrified by what she had seen. Some of the other classmates seemed to be shunning Ron as they walked down to Transfiguration, and Ron himself was hunched over, looking depressed. Harry and Hermione looked at each other, and then at Ron.

"Alright then mate. Spill. What the hell was that about?"

Ron said nothing. Neville answered for him.

"A Grim is a death omen. It's believed to signify your imminent death – if you see one then you die twenty-four hours later. Nobody really knows if it's true though…"

"It is" Ron said, breaking his silence. "My uncle Bilius saw one the day before he died."

"Well…" Hermione hesitated. "He might just have died of fright. That can happen you know – if he knew the superstition it might have, I don't know… put a strain on his heart or something."

"No, it was the Grim. You see it, you die. It's simple. Oh Merlin, I'll probably be dead by this time tomorrow!" Ron went pale as the 'truth' sank in.

Harry and Hermione exchanged sceptical glances. Harry put his arm around Ron's shoulders.

"Not going to happen Ron. If I can take a Basilisk, then a dog won't be any trouble, believe me. If it is true – which I doubt – then we'll stop it. Count on it."

This raised a smile on Ron's face, but he didn't look convinced.

* * *

Transfiguration had gone well considering their mood on arrival. Ron was feeling much better after McGonagall's dismissal of Trelawney's warning, although Hermione was fuming that a teacher would actually be stupid – or careless – enough to deliver fake death threats to students. Harry had gone the opposite way, teasing Ron for his gullibility. This was partly due to his own scepticism about the subject, and partly to take Ron's mind off the matter. He didn't need a scared and irritable best friend this early on in the term. They hadn't even had a lesson with Snape yet. Care of Magical Creatures had been…interesting to say the least. Hagrid had kicked the year off with a bang, introducing them to Hippogriffs. This had been going fine until Draco, always arrogant, had decided he knew better than Hagrid, resulting in a vicious cut on his arm. Madame Pomfrey had healed him almost instantly, but he was still milking it for all he could.

Later in the day, the Gryffindors were queuing up outside the Defence classroom in great anticipation. Harry hadn't gone out of his way to talk about Remus, but given that half of his house year-mates knew Remus already, it was not exactly a secret, and he had told them enough to assure them that he would be a good teacher. The Slytherins rolled up with a minute to spare, not looking terribly happy. Draco had met Remus a few times, and got on reasonably well with him, but the werewolf's somewhat ragged appearance would not endear him to many of the other Slytherins. There was an unusually high concentration of rich purebloods in their year, so Remus would offend them on both counts.

Remus was actually a few minutes late. He walked through the door about five minutes after it should have started, an apologetic smile on his face.

"Good afternoon, sorry I'm late. I've just been finalising the lesson with Mr Filch."

This drew a few murmurs of confusion as Remus walked to his desk to get the register. Why was Filch involved in the lesson? After taking the register – Harry was pleased to see that Remus didn't seem to be paying him any special attention – Remus looked up at them with a broad grin.

"Now, I've been informed that, while my predecessor did cover a lot of dark creatures with you you may not have actually learnt a great deal of useful information about them. Since that is my particular area of expertise, we shall be starting with dark creatures, moving onto spells later in the year. With that in mind, I have a rather unusual creature for you to face off against today."

The class burst into excited chatter; even Theodore Nott looked interested, an expression Harry was unaccustomed to seeing on his face. Gesturing them to follow, Remus led them out of the classroom, ending up in the staffroom. Snape was there, reading the Prophet, and he did not look thrilled to see them. Remus smiled at him politely, but Snape only sneered at him. If Harry hadn't known Snape better, he would have said that there was an element of fear in Snape's eyes. The Potions Master threw his newspaper aside, and stalked out of the room without a word, which mildly surprised Harry. Remus shrugged, and turned back to the class.

"Right, now today we're going to be looking at Boggarts. Now, can anyone tell me what a Boggart is?"

"Hermione's hand shot up, and she reeled off a stream of information, earning five points for Gryffindor. Remus began to tell them about the Boggart, taking them through the spell to combat them. After a few minutes of practice – during which the cupboard in the corner of the room began to rattle in rather a disturbing fashion – Remus called a halt.

"Excellent, well done all of you! Now to try it for real. As some of you may have guessed, inside that cabinet is a Boggart. You will face it, one by one, and endeavour to force it into an amusing shape. Neville, perhaps you'd care to give us a demonstration?"

Neville swallowed nervously, but stepped forward, clutching his wand. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Nott sneering in contempt. Remus smiled at Neville encouragingly, and then flicked his wand. On the other side of the room, a jazz record came on, and the cupboard doors opened with a click. Something walked out, hazy in the sunlight. Harry squinted, trying to make it out, and then, with a pop, the hazy shade had disappeared, and in its place were three people; a man and a woman, and a boy who looked, to Harry's eyes, rather like a much younger version of Neville – maybe five or six years ago. They all shared a vacant expression, and the woman was twitching slightly.

Neville let out a quiet sob, but raised his wand. It was shaking in his hand. He stuttered out the spell, _'Riddikulus'_ but to no avail. The figures remained unchanged.

"Nott, forward!" Remus shouted, ushering Neville back. Neville sank into a chair, his eyes shut and breathing heavily. He was clearly distraught, and Remus bent over, whispering something in his ear. Meanwhile, Nott was walking forward, an apprehensive look on his face. Neville's misfortune had apparently unsettled him, wiping his confidence away. The three figures that had appeared for Neville popped out of existence, and were replaced by a remarkably similar picture to Neville. The boy who appeared was clearly Nott; he was dressed in rags, and carrying two pieces of wood in his hands. Harry looked closely, and realised that they were two fragments of wand. Nott's greatest fear was apparently expulsion, which he found rather amusing. He was unable to repress a snigger, and Nott shot him a look filled with absolute loathing. Harry's eyes widened with shock.

He hadn't realised Nott hated him that much. He could see that Nott would cheerfully have blasted him with the Killing Curse at that moment. He shivered. Nott grinned viciously, and turned back to the Boggart. He flicked his wand, and the representation of expelled-Nott vanished, replaced by a much older Nott, in fine robes, clearly a great success. Nott barked with laughter, and the Boggart shivered.

"Excellent Theodore! Parvati, forward!"

And so it went on. Student after student was called forward, facing their fears and laughing at them; Harry was particularly impressed with Ron's slapstick spider. Then it was his turn. Remus had stopped calling names after awhile, as the class had formed a queue, eager to face the Boggart. As a result, he wasn't really paying attention to who was coming next. He hadn't intended to let Harry face the Boggart, thinking it a bad idea to have any of the numerous horrors he had faced over the years appear in a classroom. Quite apart from any psychological damage, would, for instance, a Boggart-Basilisk be able to kill with its gaze?

He needn't have worried about that though. Harry stepped forward, the Boggart – still in the form of a banshee after Seamus had faced it – popped, and a Dementor reared into the air. Harry flinched as he heard his mother screaming once more, and for a moment he froze. And then his fear disappeared, replaced by bitter fury, and he raised his wand, crying _'Riddikulus'_ at the top of his voice. Doors appeared, and closed around the Dementor's cloak, trapping it in place. It wasn't terribly amusing, but Harry was able to raise a laugh of satisfaction, causing it to tremble, and then Remus was at his side. The Boggart shifted immediately into the full moon, and Harry tensed, expecting someone to shout this fact out. But Remus hadn't got the job of Defence Professor solely because of his friendship with Dumbledore. Harry had barely breathed before Remus had cast the spell, sending the Boggart shooting around the room like a deflating balloon, before zapping it back into the cupboard.

Remus turned to the class, clapping his hands and a very pleased look on his face.

"Well done, all of you! Five points to everyone who faced the Boggart – sorry to those who didn't get the chance – and two feet of parchment for next Monday on the Boggart and defence against it."

The class left, chattering in excitement, and Harry hung back to speak to Remus. He saw Neville walking out, Hermione's arm around his shoulder. He still looked upset, although calmer than he had earlier.

"Harry?" Remus was looking at him.

"Just wanted to say well done, that was the best class we've had!"

"Well, that isn't really much of a compliment from what you've told me." Remus said with a chuckle. Harry shrugged.

"Well, fair point, but you know what I mean. It was really interesting, and very cool!"

"Cool? I've never been called that before. Thank you very much!"

"No problem. What was Neville's-"

Remus cut him off with a frown.

"If Neville chooses to tell you, then that is his affair. It isn't my place to tell you Harry."

Harry nodded, chastened. He had his suspicions though; he thought he had recognised the two adults. With a farewell to Remus, he hurried off after his friends. He caught up with them just in time to see Neville punch Blaise Zabini in the face. As the black boy sank to the floor, clutching his nose, Neville drew his wand, and aimed it at the prone boy.

"Don't _ever_ joke about that Zabini."

And with that, he stalked off, almost running. Ron and Hermione were staring after him in confusion. Hermione went to go after him, but Harry grabbed her shoulder, shaking his head. If he was right, then Neville wouldn't want company right now, and he told her so. She didn't seem totally convinced, but he and Ron managed to restrain her. They walked back to the common room, discussing the lesson – although carefully avoiding mention of Neville. Eventually, they got to Nott's Boggart. Harry laughed.

"That was really funny. I had no idea he was such a teachers pet – his greatest fear is being expelled? Really didn't see that coming."

Ron frowned. "It might not just be that you know. The Nott's are a really old pureblood family; being expelled would be a massive dishonour, and the old families don't take kindly to stains on their honour. He might even be thrown out and disowned if he was expelled, it's seen as a sign that you've basically failed as a wizard."

"Really? That's very interesting actually."

Harry and Ron looked at each other frantically. Over the last two years, they had come to recognise the signs of an academic rant quickly, and knew it was imperative to head it off as soon as possible.

"So what would your Boggart have been Hermione?"

Hermione shuddered slightly.

"The Basilisk."

Harry winced. He had forgotten that she would have seen it in the mirror when she was attacked. The rest of their walk was conducted in gloomy silence. Basilisks, Dementors, and insane parents. It was not a nice way to end the day, however much Harry had enthused about the lesson to his guardian.

* * *

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	6. Interlude: An Uninvited Guest

A/N: Warning – here be violence. This interlude features Evan Rosier being a very unpleasant person indeed.

**Interlude: An Uninvited Guest**

Evan Rosier was deathly tired.

His escape from Azkaban had been more arduous than he had expected. Despite having gained a wand, he had nearly buckled under the amount of magic he had had to cast. Simultaneously fighting off Dementors and highly-skilled Aurors was not something he wanted to do again anytime soon.

Even worse, the wand he had stolen was lost, dropped into the sea as he fled on a stolen broomstick. It was fortunate for him that the Dementors were restricted in their movements, unless directly released from the boundaries around Azkaban. If they had caught up in mid-air…

He cursed to himself as the Warming Charm he had on failed, and he moved to replace it, focussing on his magic. Did he still have enough to force it through without a wand? He felt a flare of warmth spread up his body, and he smiled, but it faded away almost instantly. He didn't have the magic left to cast spells without a wand. He would need a lengthy rest to restore his power sufficiently.

Sadly, the Dementors would surely be after him soon, and he had no food, no water, no wand, and he hardly blended in. Soon he wouldn't even have the strength to fly the broom – which given that he was currently high in the sky somewhere in Cornwall was not a good thing.

* * *

Alexander Godwin, an employee of the Department of International Co-operation, had not had a good day. He had been working for months on smoothing the ground for a possible restoration of the ancient Tri-Wizard tournament, and over the last few weeks, the department had seen all that work collapse around them.

It was all Rosier's fault, he decided. The Head teachers at Durmstrang and Beauxbatons were not all that keen on bringing students to a country where one of the most dangerous people of the last few decades was able to just walk out of a prison in the middle of the bloody sea, and understandably so. Karkaroff in particular couldn't be blamed; he had named Rosier to the Ministry as a Death Eater, so he wouldn't be keen to run into his old friend would he?

Godwin leaned back from his desk, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. This could wait till the morning. He travelled from Cornwall to London everyday; in his view, spending time working at home was almost a crime.

He walked downstairs, smiling as the sounds of his family playing wafted from the living room. His daughter, Elizabeth, was playing with some dolls in front of the fire, while his wife, Mary, sat reading. She looked up, smiling at him.

"How's work going dear?"

"Terrible. I'm giving it up as a bad job, far more important things to do!"

Her smile widened.

"I'm just going outside for a smoke. Why don't you get a game out?"

He carried on through the hall, walking through the back door. He took a seat, lighting a cigarette with the tip of his wand, and sat back, slowly beginning to relax. The view over the forest was his view of Heaven. Then he frowned. What the hell was a broomstick doing in his back garden?

"That's a filthy habit you've got sir."

Godwin whirled round, but whoever had spoken had already moved; there was a crash as a flowerpot crashed against Godwin's face, and he collapsed, gasping in pain, dropping his wand as he did so. He reached out for it, but the stranger had again moved too quickly. The wand was swiftly pointed at its former owner.

"Now, there was no need for that was there? You've only yourself to blame for that injury sir, I wasn't going to hurt you at all. I'm just looking for a little sustenance after all. What's your name?"

"Godwin… Alex Godwin… Look, I don't know who you are, just don't hurt me, I'm sure we can sort something out."

"You don't know who I am? That's very upsetting Alex – may I call you Alex? Oh good, I'm so pleased. Well, my name is Evan."

The stranger leaned forward, allowing light to fall on his face. Alex felt his stomach churn as he recognised the man who hadn't been off the front page of the _Prophet_ since his escape from Azkaban. He had a strangely cheery expression on his face.

"Evan Rosier…"

"Oh you do know me! That's nice Alex, very nice indeed. Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Please… I have a wife and child…"

"Lucky you! I'm alone in the world I'm afraid – well, for the moment…"

At this, Rosier let out a slight chuckle at some private joke.

"Family is such a special thing isn't it? Maybe I could meet them Alex? Do you think they'd like that?"

"I… I don't think…"

The cheery expression on Rosier's face vanished in an instant.

"That's not very nice Alex. I think I'll go and introduce myself in that case."

"No!"

But Rosier had already moved inside. Godwin ran after him, terrified. He had heard far too many stories about Rosier at the Ministry.

"Alex? What's – Oh my God!"

"Mary, run, get out of here!"

Rosier giggled as Mary ran back into the living room, and followed her in. She snatched Elizabeth by the hand, running towards the fireplace, but Rosier merely raised his stolen wand, and the fire was suddenly just a mass of debris. Alex dived at Rosier, but was sent flying backwards with another wave of the wand. Rosier sighed in satisfaction.

"Ah… I must say, I have missed having a wand. It's not as good as my own of course, but that's rather beyond my reach for now… Well Alex, aren't you going to introduce us?"

Godwin's gaze flickered from his terrified wife to Rosier, and back again. The Aurors had been talking about Rosier's tendency to play games, and he knew the only chance they had was to try and play along, and hope that this time Rosier would not be in a killing mood.

He had a bad feeling that this was a forlorn hope.

"This… This is my wife, Mary. And that's my… my daughter, Elizabeth."

Rosier bowed to them, momentarily pointing the wand away from anyone. Godwin started to move forward – but Rosier was aiming at him again so fast that he could have sworn he hadn't actually moved at all.

"Well Madame, may I compliment you on your charming daughter? I'm sure she's very special…"

Mary whimpered, hugging Elizabeth closer. Elizabeth merely looked curious, as if she didn't quite understand what was happening. Rosier crouched down, looking at the girl.

"Come here Elizabeth."

She began to move forward, and Mary let out a quiet moan, apparently powerless to stop her. Elizabeth was still holding her doll Godwin suddenly realised, focussing on anything that would allow him to forget the Death Eater in the room. Rosier suddenly reached out, taking the doll from her. He studied it carefully.

"This is a very nice doll Elizabeth. Who is it?"

"Harry."

"Harry who?"

"Harry Potter."

An ugly look passed across Rosier's face for an instant, and Godwin closed his eyes in desperation.

"Ah yes, the Boy-Who-Lived. How… nice. Are you a fan?"

Elizabeth nodded.

"I've got a scrapbook."

"That's nice! Can I see it please?"

Elizabeth nodded again, walking off to fetch her scrapbook from the corner. Godwin decided to try again.

"Please, Mr Rosier, don't hurt us. We'll give you anything you want, just don't hurt us…"

Rosier looked at him.

"You're not still going on about that are you? I promise, I won't lay a finger – or otherwise harm – any of you."

Godwin blinked.

"You… You won't?"

"No, I don't think so. That would be boring. Oh that is lovely isn't it?"

Elizabeth handed him the scrapbook, and he leafed through; the wand was still pointing at Godwin and his wife. She was looking at Rosier in sheer terror, but she somehow found the nerve to speak.

"We… we can still Apparate away you know…"

Rosier spoke without looking up.

"This is very true Mary, but you'd have to leave your daughter behind. And I'd be in a _very _bad mood if you left without my permission. And when I'm in a bad mood people tend to get hurt, if you catch my meaning."

He looked up. His eyes were glinting dangerously, and there was a mild grin on his face. To Godwin's eyes, he looked utterly insane.

"I see young Harry's at Hogwarts now. They grow up so fast now don't they? What do you think your daughter will be like at that age Mr and Mrs Godwin?"

"Please… You said you wouldn't hurt us…"

"And indeed I won't Alex."

Rosier aimed the wand again, pointing straight at Mary.

"She will. _Imperio!"_

Mary went rigid, and her eyes glazed over. Godwin looked at her, than back at Rosier. The playful light had left his eyes completely now.

"Your daughter's last memory will be her mother torturing you to death Alex. Isn't that… special? Oh dear."

Godwin had lost control of his bladder. Rosier smirked at him, an expression utterly without mirth, and twitched the wand again. His wife turned to him, drawing her own wand, and aimed it at him.

"Goodbye Alex. It's been a pleasure to meet you."

Godwin looked back at his wife. Under the curse, she was almost unrecognisable. There was no trace of expression on her face. In a flat tone, she began to utter spells.

"_Necrosia!"_

Godwin screamed as the spell hit his arm, and his hand began to turn black, dead bits of flesh dropping from his decaying arm as the curse spread. His wife spoke again, a cutting curse this time, and his arm was severed at the elbow. He sank to the floor, starting to go into shock, staring as the flesh completely withered, leaving only a few bones. He looked up at Rosier; he gradually realised that he was holding Elizabeth still, as she screamed and screamed. He reached out to his daughter with his remaining arm, but then Rosier made Mary cast the Cruciatus curse, and he became incapable of rational thought under the agonising pain. As the haze of pain cleared, he became aware that Rosier had made Mary turn her wand on Elizabeth. Godwin began to weep as blood began to pour from his daughter's eyes, nose, ears and mouth. She ceased screaming almost immediately, and lay still.

Rosier, he realised, was laughing uncontrollably.

* * *

Half an hour later, there was silence in the Godwin house. Rosier sat in the living room, still giggling occasionally, in the midst of a pool of blood. Godwin's mind had snapped under the third – or was it fourth? – dose of the Cruciatus curse, perhaps understandably when one considered that he had no limbs left by that point. He had made Mary end it swiftly, blowing apart her husbands head with a blasting curse. Mary herself had also died swiftly, Rosier contenting himself with a Killing Curse.

He sat back, humming to himself. He had been very well behaved in Azkaban; he had _deserved_ this evening of fun and relaxation. And it had been profitable as well. Harry Potter was at Hogwarts. And there were sure to be some other juicy targets there as well. And he needed something to do while he came up with a plan to get to his Master…


	7. History of Magic

Chapter 5: History of Magic

Hermione dropped her bag on the floor, muttering under her breath. She couldn't believe her friends sometimes. It was only the first lesson for History of Magic, and they were already slacking off! Alright, Binns wasn't the most invigorating teacher they had, but the subject was fascinating, or would have been if they were only willing to pay attention. They'd finished with the Goblin rebellions now, so who knew what other areas of the past they would be opening up?

She was dimly aware that she wouldn't normally be this irritable, that her lack of sleep was taking its toll. But there was so much work, and so much interesting reading, she just couldn't take a break. The time-turner itself was an astounding invention; she was sorely tempted to see just how far she could turn it before she couldn't travel any further back. It was a simple enough calculation to alter, even Ron could manage. Well, maybe if he was given parchment and quill…

Neville took his seat next to her, smiling at her apologetically. Almost involuntarily she smiled back, and then remembered that she was angry with them. That said, after Neville's performance in Defence Against the Dark Arts the other day she was prepared to cut him some slack. The vacant figures had spooked her badly, and she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know who they were. Neville had turned up in the common room several hours after they had last seen him, looking much calmer, and refusing to talk about it. Since the even-tempered Gryffindor had almost broken Blaise Zabini's nose upon interrogation, his classmates had wisely left the subject alone.

Hermione took a deep breath, focussing herself on the lesson ahead. She was just in time. Binns chose that moment to glide through the blackboard, signifying the beginning of the lesson. As the ghostly professor shuffled his notes, the chalk began to levitate, writing out their lesson plan on the board: The Origins of Magic. Hermione smiled brightly, and felt like she was glowing with excitement. She had not been able to find a satisfactorily definitive answer to this question before, and she couldn't wait to find out the facts. Binns cleared his throat – proving that old habits really are hard to shake – and began the lesson, skipping any introduction and ploughing straight on with his lecture.

"Ahem. The origins of magic. There are many theories about this topic, which we will be covering throughout this term. The first, and most frequently accepted theory dates back to a time before that of the myths of Greece and Rome. There are no surviving documents from this period; we must rely on the records and myths of ancient cultures such as the Greeks and Romans. While ordinarily such evidence would be questionable at best, there is undeniable evidence that these documents are based on verifiable fact.

"We have all, no doubt, heard of mythological characters such as Hercules, Aeneas, or Odysseus. There is much evidence to suggest that they were based on famous wizards and witches of the time, as were the gods seen alongside them. Many of these myths rely on basic – or advanced – forms of the magic we use today; the Greek 'god' Zeus seems to have been particularly skilled in the art of Transfiguration, given the numerous stories of his… amorous adventures conducted in disguise.

"However, this does not answer the question of where magic originated. Documents written by eminent historians – which have not been accessed by Muggle historians – speak of powerful beings; The Shining Ones. They were believed to reside outside time, governing reality. And it is believed that they chose to imbue the people of this world with magic. The first of person to be gifted with magic was a man known only as Tammuz. He is widely claimed to have been the first sorcerer; he is the most likely creator of the purely magical creatures, such as house-elves."

Hermione was scribbling notes frantically, absorbing the information at an incredible rate. She had been right, this was incredibly interesting. She had never known that there was any such concept as gods in the magical world, even if they did seem to have been abandoned centuries ago. And the fact that magic was a gift was interesting in itself… Binns was continuing, droning on about how magic could have spread.

"The sorcerers spread, imbuing – or perhaps infecting – the world around them with magic, which in turn resulted in magical flora and fauna. It was this that allowed the beginning of potions brewing, and the beginnings of the healing arts. And it is fairly reliably recorded that, for many years, there was peace and prosperity. A magical golden age, if you will. However, eventually Tammuz died. And after that, the world descended into chaos. We learnt last year of the sorcerer wars. However, we only covered the war itself, not its aftermath. We know that the sorcerers all but wiped each other out, leaving only the weaker wizards and witches. However, what we also know is that, according to these documents, the Shining Ones were furious with the way their gift had been misused, and punished the aggressors severely; they were stripped of the ability to use magic. However, this created its own problems. There were now two communities, the magical and the un-magical, which would eventually come to be known as the Muggle community. Perhaps obviously, there were elements within the magical community who looked down on the newly made Muggles, which in turn created resentment of the magical community, tensions which remain in some quarters to this day."

Hermione stopped dead, dropping her quill and gaping at her notes. That explained so much! How magic could manifest in families with no magical blood whatsoever – if everyone on the planet had possessed magical abilities, and then some people had lost it, then Muggleborns were simply recovering a lost talent!

"It was at this point that the so-called 'Laws of Balance' are said to have been introduced. These laws were designed to ensure a healthy balance of magic in the world; an attempt by the Shining Ones to restrict the impact of magic on the world, both light and dark, while allowing the existence of both. Infringement of these laws classically resulted in the loss of magic for the culprit. The belief in them has of course rather fallen out of favour since around the seventeenth century, but they seem to have worked. History is full of so called Dark wizards, but by and large these Dark wizards have been wizards and witches who have sought to influence the world too greatly. One way or another, their star has burned brightly but shortly, falling from power in a short space of time."

The rest of the lesson was spent making notes on Tammuz, and refreshing their memories on the sorcery wars. For once, Hermione was not paying much attention, still staggered by what she had learnt. They were dismissed for lunch not long after, and the moment they left the classroom Hermione was chattering in excitement to her friends.

"Wasn't that fascinating? I never knew any of that before, how can it be kept so quiet?"

Harry shrugged. "Because not many people care; you heard what he said, most of the theory hasn't been believed in about four hundred years. Back then, it was down to Dark Lords like Xanatos and Ulcis; people didn't see how 'gods' could let wizards like them exist. Then about a hundred years ago, this halfblood called Lumas determined that magic came from an enlarged part of our brain, so it's not religious at all, just random genetics."

"You don't believe it? How can you not believe it?"

Harry stared at her. "It's just one theory Hermione. That said, I do believe that idea of balance he was going on about. Not necessarily that there's some fantastic power waiting to punish us if there's too much of one kind of magic, but that too much magic can damage the world. I mean, the Sahara desert's never been the same. And that Tamuz bloke probably did exist. But the Shining Ones? That's just bollocks if you ask me."

"But it explains so much! The existence of Muggleborns, the whole prejudice against them… Everything!"

"Yes. It might. It might not. You heard what Binns said, there aren't any records from when all this is supposed to have happened, it might be as real as Rita Skeeter's articles."

"But it sounds true…" Hermione whispered. Ron patted her arm sympathetically.

"So do lots of things 'Mione."

She jerked her arm away. "Don't call me that Ronald!" She hurried off down the corridor, leaving her friends staring dumbfounded after her. They just didn't seem to _understand_! Hermione knew that she was the smartest witch in her year. She knew that she was fairly powerful, at least for her age group. She also knew that despite this, the main reason people didn't pass comment about her being a Muggleborn was because Harry was powerful enough to make people regret their words. Three of her best friends – her only real friends – were pureblood, and the fourth had grown up around wizards and fully aware of magical culture. Why couldn't one of them work out that that was why she was taking so many subjects? She could never learn all the things that they took for granted but she could make up for it with academic knowledge.

Her conscience forced her to acknowledge that none of them flaunted their knowledge, but somehow that made it worse, the fact that the things they spoke about were apparently such common knowledge that she seemed like an idiot for not knowing about it. The first thing Harry had said to her had been a lecture about Diagon Alley. She sighed to herself. And now they would want to know why she was upset, and it would all come out, and they would think her all the more an idiot.

Perfect.

* * *

It was a week later. Harry and his friends were sitting in the Great Hall for breakfast, mentally preparing themselves for the trial that was Potions class. Hermione's frustration after History of Magic had been ignored; more accurately, she had scared her friends away from the topic by hexing Ron when he asked one too many questions. Ron was currently frantically scribbling some more for his potions essay; he had seen Hermione's and realised that he was way off in his conclusions. Harry and Neville were watching Hermione and the twins fight over what he should put in, with the twins' contributions being less than helpful.

Hermione broke off from the argument as an owl landed in front of her, carrying a copy of the Daily Prophet. She paid it distractedly, already poring over the front page. She went white with shock, and dropped the paper. Harry and Neville looked at her, and Harry took the paper from her. He understood immediately.

_Dark Mark raised in Cornwall!_

_Early this morning, the Ministry of Magic released a statement, confirming that the Dark Mark has been sighted for the first time in twelve years. The Mark was raised over the house of Alexander Godwin, an employee of the ministry, for the Department of International Co-Operation. Mr Godwin and his wife, Mary, and their daughter, Elizabeth, just six years old, were slaughtered. Aurors described the scene as 'barbaric' and 'reminiscent of You-Know-Who at the height of his power'. _

_Aurors strongly believe that the recently escaped prisoner, Evan Rosier, was responsible for the atrocity, citing similarities to crimes he committed during the war. It is still unknown precisely how Rosier was able to escape from Azkaban, the first prisoner to successfully escape in the prison's history. What is certain is that Rosier is now more dangerous than ever; Mr Godwin's wand was missing, and Ministry officials admit that Rosier may have stolen it. Therefore, Rosier must be considered armed and extremely dangerous. _

_The Ministry has also been criticised in some quarters for misuse of the Dementors, the guards of Azkaban. They are currently being 'squandered' in the words of one official, guarding Hogwarts and the nearby village of Hogsmeade. Given Rosier's actions in Cornwall, at the other end of the country, it has been claimed that if the Dementors are to be used in the hunt at all, then they should be held at the Ministry, to be transported to the locations of any sightings. However, head of the Aurors Rufus Scrimgeour defended the decision:_

"_The students at Hogwarts are potentially targets, and will be until Rosier is recaptured. We saw last night what Rosier likes to do to children, and given the families with connections to Hogwarts at the moment, it's better to be safe than sorry. Having the Dementors there allows us to keep the Aurors hunting the country rather than being on guard duty."_

Harry looked up. Hermione was looking as if she might be sick, and she wasn't the only one. There were several other students with copies of the Prophet, and none of them looked happy. Neville, who had been reading over Harry's shoulder, swore softly under his breath, before smiling gently at Hermione.

"Don't worry Hermione, he's in Cornwall. It's not like he can just walk in here is it? They're bound to catch him soon."

She just glared at him furiously.

"I have read about Rosier you know! Aurors were 'bound to catch him' dozens of times, but he slaughtered everyone who ever got close! It took ten Aurors to take him and Selwyn in, and that was when the Aurors had actually been trained for war – how many do you think it'll take now?"

Harry was about to butt in when someone clasped his shoulder. He turned round to see Dumbledore standing behind him. His eyes were definitely not twinkling.

"Harry, could you come with me please?"

Harry stood up, anxiety mixing with confusion to make an unpleasant combination. He followed the Headmaster out of the hall in silence, surprisingly thankful for the shocking report in the Prophet; the gruesome article was keeping the other students fixed to their papers rather than his latest escapade. Dumbledore remained quiet as they climbed the stairs, but once they reached the upper levels of the castle, away from the hubbub of student life, he began to speak.

"So Harry, how is your term going?"

Harry frowned in puzzlement. Dumbledore had dragged him out of breakfast to talk about his lessons? Still, no need to be rude.

"Not too bad sir. Divination's a load of rubbish, but I thought it would be when I signed up, so I can hardly complain…"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Ah yes, dear Sybil. A most fascinating character Harry… Tell me, which student did she claim was going to die this year?"

"She said she could see a Grim in Ron's cup sir. He was a bit worried about it before Professor McGonagall told us about her record, his uncle saw a Grim before he died apparently."

"Oh? I did not know that I must confess. I probably ought to discipline her regarding the matter, but her warnings are such fun I find."

Harry grinned, and nodded.

"And your other lessons? Progressing satisfactorily I trust?"

"Yes sir, they're fine. Ancient Runes is a little tricky, but I'm coping. And it's nice to have a decent Defence teacher for once!"

"Yes, I heard Remus had brought in some interesting innovations. The chance to practice fighting a boggart is a rare one these days, they are becoming increasingly rare. Something of a shame I feel, they can be quite useful for someone who does not truly know himself. They are rather like the Mirror of Erised in that respect, don't you agree?"

Harry shrugged, not entirely convinced. The Mirror had been an object of terror for him even before it had exploded in his face. He considered himself lucky that Madame Pomfrey had been able to clean him up without any facial scars. That said, they couldn't have been that bad. She hadn't even commented on them; he could almost forget that specific injury had ever happened. However, before he could offer any vocal response, Dumbledore was giving the password to the gargoyle, and they walked up the spiral staircase to the headmaster's office. They sat down opposite each other, and Harry smiled as Fawkes squawked at him in greeting. The jovial look had now vanished from Dumbledore's face, and he looked much more like he had back in the hall.

"I see that you read the paper today Harry. Grim news."

Harry nodded silently, waiting to hear what the headmaster had to say. Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"The report did not contain all the facts. The Godwin's daughter, Elizabeth, was… Well, she was quite a fan of yours Harry. And she had a scrapbook about you according to family friends."

"So what? I mean, why is that important sir?" Harry responded, blushing slightly.

"It was covered in blood when the Aurors searched the scene. And Rosier's fingerprints were in the blood. Rosier most likely knows everything that has ever been published about you now. And the papers have not been shy about printing your location during term-time."

Harry nodded slowly. "They think he'll come here?"

"It does seem rather likely I'm afraid. I'm sure I don't need to tell you to be careful, but I am afraid that your permission to visit Hogsmeade is going to have to be revoked. Just for the moment of course, until Rosier is recaptured, as he is sure to be. If you would like, I can recall Sirius and Peter from their mission."

Harry sat in silence, staring into thin air. Did he want the other Marauders back? Remus was the one he confided in, and while Sirius and Peter were good duellists, two more wands wouldn't make that much of a difference, given the hordes of Dementors and Dumbledore. And Peter had been training him hard over the summer; he wasn't going to be taking on Aurors anytime soon, but he was hardly helpless. And Dumbledore wasn't in the habit of sending people off on an idle whim…

"No, I'll be fine. We don't even know if he's going to be coming here for sure yet. I'm sure they're off doing something important."

Dumbledore smiled at him proudly.

"They are indeed Harry. Don't worry though, they should be back by Christmas. And don't worry too much about Rosier either. Foul though the Dementors may be, they are a rather effective deterrent, especially for those who have encountered them before."

Harry nodded, and Dumbledore sat back, reaching for a lemon drop.

"Now, I do have another question for you Harry. About your magic. Anything unusual in recent weeks? I know you had a fairly quiet summer all things considered."

Harry shrugged. "Nothing much. I had a bad dream – well, I think it was a bad dream, I don't really remember it – but when I woke up I found I'd conjured a load of butterflies out of thin air. They went away with a finite though."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Interesting. A shame you got rid of them, I would have liked to have seen them. No matter though. You do seem to have rather an affinity for conjuring don't you Harry? Those snakes in the Chamber last year, butterflies now… An unusual skill for someone your age."

"Well, I'm hardly mister normal am I?"

"True. But that is something to be proud of Harry! You have achieved much in your life thus far, however unwillingly. Protected a Philosophers Stone, slain a basilisk, shown astounding aptitude for conjuring… You are a remarkable young man. I think we can expect truly great things from you later in life. And while we are on the subject, would you mind me checking up on that block on your magic? It has been a while since I last looked after all."

"Be my guest."

Harry sat back as Dumbledore waved his wand, muttering to himself thoughtfully. After a few moments he sat back down, smiling.

"This is excellent Harry! The block is much reduced, and shows signs of your magic on it; you must be fighting it now, even if only subconsciously-"

Harry shook his head suddenly, as images of ice flashed through his mind, accompanied by an arrogant voice.

"Harry?" Dumbledore was looking at him in concern. Harry smiled in an attempt to reassure him, and sat back, rubbing his scar, which was beginning to itch.

"Sorry sir, it's nothing. I just – I must not have slept well last night."

Dumbledore looked at him, but only nodded. Harry left shortly after. He was strangely uncurious about the near blackout he had suffered. Maybe if it had happened at any other time, when he hadn't just discovered he was a likely target for a sadistic killer, then he would have been worried about it. But Harry always tried to keep perspective. And something told him he didn't need to worry about it.

_That little voice in the back of your head? Is that all I am to you? You'll see Potter…_

* * *

A/N: I've just noticed that I didn't cite the title in chapter 4 – I probably don't need to, but better safe than sorry. It's from Pulp's _The Fear_. And the theories presented at the beginning may or may not be the truth - they are (at this stage at least) just theories.

Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	8. The Dark Lord

A/N: Something of an experiment here. This chapter jumps around a bit chronologically, so I hope it makes sense.

**Chapter 6: The Dark Lord**

_Hogwarts: two weeks ago_

Harry stood there, his wand aimed at the target on the other side of the classroom. Remus was drilling him in his combat spells; he was already much better at duelling than he had been over the summer. Peter's initial lessons had focussed more on getting him used to lengthy physical exertion. The fencing training he had been doing for several years had helped, but it was geared more towards short bursts of energy, whereas Wizarding duels, whether formal or battlefield fights, tended to be more drawn-out. Well, assuming that the opponents were equally matched of course. However, he had learnt a few new spells.

Remus set the target – a wooden figure, charmed to move around – going, and Harry began to snap off spells.

"_Impedimenta, depulso, protego!"_

The target froze on the spot, before the banishing charm threw it backwards a few feet. A shimmering circle of solidified air appeared in front of Harry, and Remus nodded approvingly at the excellent shield charm. Harry grinned, before moving off again.

"_Coruscus"_ – a flash of light around him, designed to distract enemies – "_Elido!"_ – the target's arm crumbled under the force of the striking curse – "_Reducto!"_ The target's head exploded, and Remus began to applaud. Harry stood back, panting and blinking sweat from his eyes. Remus waved his wand, and the target moved back to the cupboard it had come from, its head and arm repairing itself. Harry watched enviously; he was probably more powerful than Remus already, but he couldn't cast spells silently no matter how hard he tried. The Marauders had all, at one point or another, told him to forget about it for the moment, that it wasn't even taught at Hogwarts until sixth year, but he couldn't help but feel jealous.

Remus smiled at him.

"That was excellent Harry. You've improved a great deal; that was much more accurate, and quicker too. You might be able to beat Peter next time you duel if you keep practicing like this!"

Harry smiled grimly. He hadn't forgotten the fact that his guardian had soundly beaten him. Remus was a much more gentle taskmaster, and Harry enjoyed their lessons far more. He couldn't wait to see the look on Peter's face once he had been beaten.

"Don't forget though, the banishing charm, the striking curse and the blasting curse will all be less effective against a human opponent. They're fine for now, but we'll be looking at much more potent spells by Christmas."

Harry nodded, and Remus sat down, levitating a cup of tea over to his ward, which Harry took gratefully, sighing as he cooled down.

"Is there any more word on Rosier?"

Remus shook his head. "We haven't heard anything other than what you've seen in the paper – or at least, the Ministry isn't sharing anything extra they've learnt, and Dumbledore's got contacts who'd tell him if only unofficially. We've got to assume that he's gone to ground for awhile."

Harry nodded silently, but shifted in his seat as Remus eyed him shrewdly.

"Wanting to know if you can go to Hogsmeade yet?"

Harry nodded. When Dumbledore had first told him that he wouldn't be able to go to Hogsmeade, he hadn't been that bothered. It was only a few weekends a year, and it wasn't as if he hadn't been to wizard shops before. But the first weekend was coming up, and the excitement amongst the students was rising accordingly. And he had heard a lot of interesting things from older students (and a lot of information from Hermione), and he was only just realising what a treat he was missing out on. Remus smiled sympathetically.

"Well… You've improved a lot. I can speak to Dumbledore if you want, try and get him to let you go. I don't mind going down to keep an eye on you – at a suitable distance of course, I wouldn't want to cramp your style."

Harry grinned. "That would be great. You could show us all the old Marauder haunts!"

"I'm not sure I could do that Harry. I do have a position of responsibility you know." Remus looked at Harry reprovingly, but there was a sparkle in his eye that suggested he wasn't entirely serious. "Besides, Sirius knows far more than I do. I was a good student you know."

Harry snorted in disbelief, and Remus shook his head in mock-disapproval.

* * *

_Albania: the present_

The Lord Voldemort hid in his cave. He had been very fond of Albania as a young man, before the war. Before Potter. Now though… He had been hidden in this cave, an insubstantial, shadowy form, for more than a decade. Every now and then, he could possess rats and snakes, allowing him to venture outside without fear of discovery. But such activity tired him greatly, and he had done it less and less as the years went past. Now, he mostly hovered around and brooded. He still had no idea what could have happened in the bedroom in Godric's Hollow. It was a routine he had practised hundreds of times. Raise wand, incantation, step over the body. It was one of his many specialities, but something had gone wrong. He had pondered blood magic, but he was fairly well versed in the art, and nothing had come to mind that fit the scenario properly. Similarly, rune shields offered more protection to those with the skill to use them properly, but unless the Potters had been incredibly paranoid, there hadn't been a rune circle there when he arrived, and there certainly hadn't been time to cast one. And, although his knowledge of them was admittedly not encyclopaedic, there were none that could block such a potent spell as the Killing Curse. A rune circle would have shattered under the curse.

About the only satisfactory conclusion he had was the prophecy. He knew that there had been one, but not its contents – not in their entirety. It was possible that the terms of the prophecy had guarded the brat against the curse's power, which wasn't unheard of…

But most of all, he raged against his 'loyal' followers. There would be a reckoning when he made his triumphant return, he swore on his very soul. Well, what was left of it. Not a word, not a sign of any of them. They had abandoned him. He knew from his occasional journeys out of the cave that not all of his Death Eaters had been imprisoned or killed. Those that had been… Well, he could hardly complain about the dead ones abandoning him. And those who had been imprisoned were probably mad by now; he couldn't rely on them knowing their own names, let alone how to find him. He was disappointed that none of them possessed the skill and power to break out, but his true anger was reserved for the treacherous wretches who had betrayed him. Thicknesse, Karkaroff, Snape, the Carrow twins, Macnair, Crabbe and Goyle – although he suspected the last two had followed him because they lacked the intelligence to say no than anything else. Certainly they had never done him any useful service.

Oh, Quirrell had been loyal enough, but he had not been there during the war. He had stumbled upon Voldemort as he possessed a snake, seeking news of the outside world, and he had pledged his loyalty to the cause on the spot. Yes; loyal, but useless. He still didn't know how the fool had been beaten, but if he couldn't manage to steal something from a school, then he was more use dead than alive.

And so he remained in the cave, quite literally a shadow of his former self, with only loyal Nagini for what little companionship he required. And the diadem. The priceless artefact that he alone knew of, and had later despoiled with the shard of his soul. Anyone wearing it now would certainly learn a lot, but it wouldn't be useful wisdom. It would be more along the lines of instant possession, followed by a lingering death of the mind. He spent much of his time, when not cursing his followers, gazing at it in rapt adoration. It gleamed brightly in the darkness, and he saw much of himself in it. It was a bright point in a bleak existence, and he knew that he had been a shining light of power in the stagnant world of Wizarding Britain, a country too scared of its own power to use it.

The years had rolled past, until this day, near the twelfth anniversary of his downfall. He was in a foul mood, and did not expect his temper to improve. When he was in a mood like this, he ached for a body, for a wand, and for someone helpless to torture and eviscerate.

And then someone walked into his cave.

* * *

_Hogwarts: a week ago_

Dumbledore had insisted on seeing Harry's improvement for himself, and had been suitably pleased. Watching Harry duel another wooden target, he had agreed that assuming Harry stuck to certain conditions, he could be allowed to go to Hogsmeade; namely, stay in the main areas, don't wander off alone, and to keep his wand with him at all times. Harry had eagerly agreed, and had handed his permission form into Professor McGonagall at the first available opportunity.

He walked back to the common room from her office with a smile on his face. Something unusual was happening by the fire. Hermione was struggling with homework. While it was far from unusual to see her working, especially these days, this was work for the next day; for her to be still working on her own homework so close to the deadline was unheard of. Needless to say, it was Divination. Ron and Neville were sitting next to her, offering suggestions. However, their help did not seem to be appreciated.

"I can't just make it up! This is official schoolwork, it would be wrong!"

"So? It's just one piece of work Hermione, and it's all about our interpretations of tea-leaves anyway. How can our interpretations be wrong? The worst they can be is misguided or something."

"That's not the point Ron! And what are you looking so happy about?"

Harry said nothing to this rude enquiry, knowing his friend would regret it the instant she had said it. Sure enough, his friend hung her head, blushing brightly. He sat down, grinning at Ron and Neville.

"I'm coming to Hogsmeade!"

This was met with expected good humour by the three of them, albeit in a rather distracted fashion from Hermione, still struggling with her tea-leaves. An hour later, Harry headed up to bed, exhausted after his training. Ginny watched him go, feeling strangely upset. She had been rather looking forward to spending the day with Harry while the others were in Hogsmeade. She hadn't seen much of him in recent weeks; he had been busy trying to improve enough at duelling to persuade Dumbledore to let him go. She shrugged. It wasn't like he was ignoring her, so she probably shouldn't worry about it too much.

* * *

_Albania: the present_

If he had possessed a body, the Lord Voldemort would have been stiff with anticipation. As it was, he hissed, softly, to his familiar, and withdrew further into the darkness. The intruder – a man, unmistakeably, despite his hooded robe – raised his wand, light shining from its tip. The Lord Voldemort hissed again, and Nagini shot forward like an arrow, jaws wide, preparing to sink her fangs into the man's neck; he dropped to the floor, yelling in surprise, and rolled away from her. To his astonishment, the intruder did not immediately start firing off curses, but began to speak to the snake. With another hiss, he commanded Nagini to retreat, and he moved forward, flying straight through the man's body, taking a sense of his identity with him. Ah… Now he knew who the intruder was.

The Dark Lord Voldemort gazed down on his faithful follower, the first to come looking for him since his downfall. His spy… His snake in the grass, the man who had betrayed the Potters…

"My servant… I confess myself… Saddened. You pledged undying loyalty, and yet you have not done anything to find me all these long years. I trust you have sufficient reason for this long absence?"

"My Lord, I had no way of knowing you were still alive! I had no Dark Mark for fear of discovery, I genuinely thought you were dead! I thought I had failed you master."

"You did." Voldemort shivered as the closest thing to amusement he had felt in over a decade flowed through his shadowy form. A smirk fluttered over his face as his spy froze in shock and shame.

"But you have not betrayed me. Rise, and look upon me."

* * *

_Hogwarts: the present_

Severus Snape strode up the staircase to Dumbledore's office, an even grimmer look than normal fixed in his face. He walked in without knocking, and scowled at the sight of Dumbledore humming to himself over a bowl of lemon drops. The headmaster smiled at him, which only made him scowl even more. He thrust his left arm out, the sleeve pushed up to his elbow. The ugly black tattoo on his arm was pulsing, and only years of experience prevented him showing the pain on his face. Dumbledore sat up instantly, turning serious in the blink of an eye.

"What has happened?"

Snape sat down, massaging his wrist. "There was a sudden burst of pain, about ten minutes ago. It didn't feel like a summoning, but it is… disturbing never the less."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "I suspect we would have heard by now if he had been able to return to his body, so I don't think we need to worry on that score. It would be very interesting to find out what has caused Tom's activity though. It's been a while hasn't it?"

"Nothing in nearly a decade Albus. Which is good in a sense; it would suggest that Quirrell's claim to be working for him was false. And I would prefer it if you didn't call him Tom in front of me thank you."

"Very true… Or, less pleasantly, that one of his old followers has found him. Evan Rosier perhaps?"

Snape shuddered at the thought of Evan Rosier back with his lord and master. Snape had had a lot of contact with the Death Eater, both as a student and when he was spying for the Order. He had never been convinced that the older boy had been playing with a full deck of cards even at school, and the things he had seen afterwards had only confirmed his suspicions. He didn't want to know how Azkaban had changed him, and the thought of Rosier and the Dark Lord back together was terrifying.

"I thought Black and Pettigrew-" he said this with a sneer "-were looking for the Dark Lord. Surely they would have noticed Rosier if he was there."

"Probably. But that would assume that our information is definitely accurate, which we can't be sure of." Dumbledore sat in silence for a long moment, stroking his beard. Then he nodded decisively. "Thank you for informing me Severus. I shall inform Sirius and Peter directly, and see what they can find. I need to let them know about Rosier's attack in Cornwall anyway, they may not have heard about it."

Snape rolled his eyes and stood up to leave. Dumbledore called after him.

"Go and get some potion from Poppy Severus. You don't need to prove anything by bearing the pain you know."

Snape said nothing, but Dumbledore had a strange idea that the dour Potions master may actually have smiled at that.

* * *

_Albania: the present_

"My Lord?"

"Your information was incomplete my servant, but that was a mistake on your part, not a deliberate exclusion of knowledge. I am not… unreasonable."

The Lord Voldemort knew what was going through his servant's mind at this point; that he was very unreasonable when someone failed him. However, he could not afford to punish him now, could not afford to drive him away. Besides, he wasn't entirely sure how he _could_ punish anyone in his condition. But even when he regained his body – which he was sure he could now achieve – he would not be so rash as to harm his own followers. They would know he could be hurt now. They might even be tempted to fight back.

"However, you must redeem yourself."

"Anything my Lord; I live only to serve you. My life, my magic, my wand are yours to command. Your enemies will fall, your will be done, and I will shout your name to the ends of the earth."

Lord Voldemort smiled in pleasure as he felt the magic of the oath ripple around him. It was almost as deep a bond as that supplied by the Dark Mark, and any residual doubts he had about his servant's loyalty were completely dispelled. He could never betray him now without losing his life – painfully, over a lengthy period of time.

"Tell me of my other servants…"

* * *

_Hogwarts: the present_

Harry had retired to bed early, nervous about the Quidditch match the next day. He was hoping for a peaceful nights sleep, but it was not to be. He was plagued once more by the voice from behind the cupboard door, persuading him to melt the ice. There had been nothing like the cloud of butterflies he had created in the last few weeks, but he sometimes noticed that his belongings were much tidier than he had left them. If he had remembered the dreams when he woke then he would have been suspicious; as it was, he simply put it down to lack of attention on his part.

However, while his dream-self was busily occupied with the ice, he was interrupted. He was standing outside the cupboard, chipping away at the ice. It was slow-going, but it was noticeably thinner. Suddenly though, he was being carried away, like a leaf on the wind. He could not see or hear anything, and then all of a sudden he was looking out of someone else's eyes.

He couldn't make out where he was, but it was dark and gloomy. He was looking down at a man, who was kneeling in front of him. He was quite good looking, but his expression was unpleasant somehow; he looked hungry, and not for food. And then Harry spoke.

"So… Evan has managed to escape. That is excellent indeed. Do you know of any other Death Eaters outside Azkaban? That can be trusted?"

The kneeling man shook his head.

"I know that not all the Death Eaters were accounted for, but I wouldn't be able to find them."

"Then you must find Rosier. He will know more, and will be able to bring them back to me. Once I have my followers, I can prepare to restore my body."

The Death Eater nodded, and rose to his feet. Bowing to Harry, he turned and walked away. Harry felt a wave of pleasure wash over him, and began to laugh, long and loud.

Harry's eyes snapped open. He was soaked in sweat, and he felt as if he was going to be sick. He climbed out of bed, pouring himself some water from the jug by his bed. The glass shook in his hand. He was still shaking when he had finished, and he made his way carefully to the bathroom, where he washed the sweat off his face. He looked into the mirror, blinking water out of his eyes.

They were red, for the first time he could remember in a year.

He blinked again, and they were green. Again, and his right eye was still green, but his left was darker, flecked with red. Again, and they were both totally red.

"_No!_"

The glass he had been drinking from shattered with a crack, and he grabbed the sink for support as his magic flared. He looked in the mirror again, and his eyes were green again. He blinked several times, but they remained reassuringly familiar. He sighed, and staggered back to bed, still trembling. It was some time before he managed to fall asleep again.

* * *

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	9. A Prediction Comes True

**Chapter 7: A Prediction Comes True**

Harry hovered above the Quidditch pitch, trying to locate the Snitch. It wasn't easy; the weather was simply appalling, and he was drenched to the skin. He had needed to renew the Impervious Charm on his glasses twice, and had nearly been blown off his broom several times. And that wasn't the only thing distracting him. He was becoming uncomfortably aware that his opponent, Cho Chang, looked very pretty when she was wet.

He rolled casually to avoid a bludger, nodding at Fred as he appeared beside him to smack it over towards the Ravenclaw chasers. At least the rain and the cold were waking him up. He had not slept much last night after his dream. But what sleep he had got had only managed to confuse him; he was now no longer sure what had been dream and what had been reality, and didn't know whether to worry about his eyes or not. He had therefore decided not to worry about it until he knew for sure that it was actually happening. It didn't seem to be doing him any harm if it was real.

There was a deep roll of thunder over the Forbidden Forest, and a bolt of lightning lit up the sky. Harry gulped nervously. He had never flown during a storm before. The rain began to fall even more heavily, and soon he began to feel as if he was flying underwater. The charm on his glasses was making little difference now; they were clear, but he couldn't see more than a few feet in front of him anyway. It was around the first time he had to swerve to avoid being hit by lightning that he saw Wood swoop away from the goal-posts, and he realised that a time-out must have been called, without him hearing it. He followed Wood down to the rest of the team, who were huddling under an enormous umbrella.

"What's the score?"

"We're sixty points up, but you need to catch the Snitch soon Harry, it's going to get dangerous if we're out here much longer." Wood replied.

Harry stared at him incredulously. "Going to _get_ dangerous? I've already had to dodge lightning Wood! Can't we postpone the game or something?"

"Absolutely not! That would be against the spirit of the game!" Wood told him, looking scandalised. "Just get that Snitch Harry, and don't be such a gentleman around Chang, knock her off her broom if you have to."

He signalled, and the team mounted their brooms again. Harry looked at Wood, and shook his head in astonishment.

"It's at times like this that I can see what Hermione's talking about; Quidditch really is ridiculous sometimes." he muttered to Fred, who was hovering next to him. Fred grinned, his arm twitching.

"You wouldn't have it any other way though would you?"

And Harry did have to admit that the exhilaration of Quidditch was unlike anything else he had ever felt. He continued to fly around the pitch, dropping through the sky to avoid a well-aimed bludger. Lightning was now coming every few minutes, and he was constantly having to swerve around to avoid being hit. He felt more like he was dancing than flying. Cho suddenly zoomed straight past him, flying straight up. He followed her path, and his stomach jolted as he realised that she had seen the Snitch. He yanked his broom up, and soared after her. He was catching up, his broom slightly faster than hers, when she suddenly swooped away. He looked after her, puzzled. The Snitch was still visible above them, so where was she going? He could see her gesturing at him, and shouting something to him, but he couldn't hear what.

And then a wave of cold flooded over him, making him feel as if a shard of ice had pierced his heart. He looked around frantically, well aware of what was causing it. But the Dementors were nowhere to be seen. He stayed where he was, wary of flying away in case he flew straight into them. His broom began to ice over, and he could feel the magic in it begin to waver, as if it was about to cut out.

The Dementor appeared from nowhere, flying straight towards him. He swerved away, but there was another beside him, and another – dozens of them, maybe hundreds, and the icy coldness was permeating every fibre of his being, flooding his veins, clutching his heart. And then the screaming started again, ringing in his ears, louder than before:

_No, please, not Harry!_

_Stand aside you foolish girl, and I might even spare your life._

_Go to hell!_

_Crucio!_

Over and over, and the eventual flash of green light, so many times it blinded him. He heard his mother die repeatedly, and fog began to gather in his mind. He no longer knew where he was, and he was determined to help her, to save her from the monster. He reached out to her, trying to pull her away.

He let go of his broom.

He fell into a horde of Dementors swarming beneath him, and the physical contact made the screams even louder. Their hands felt disgusting, he could sense the decay in them. His scar was beginning to burn, and a headache was raging behind his eyes. One of the Dementors grabbed him by the throat, and he felt his eyes begin to slide shut. He passed out.

* * *

Down below, play had stopped. Cho had come bursting out of the clouds, screaming at Madame Hooch about the Dementors. Remus had sprinted from the stand as soon as he made out what she was shouting, running downstairs to grab a broom. He wasn't a great flyer, but he was damned if he was going to let that stop him helping Harry. He ran out onto the pitch and soared into the air, rising to hover next to Madame Hooch. She nodded grimly, although pleased to see him, and blew her whistle. The other players flew back down to the pitch in response – apart from the Weasley twins, who flew over to them, holding their bats in a business like fashion. Remus glared at them.

"No. Go down, now."

"All due respect professor, but no. Harry's our friend. You can fend the Dementors off, we'll catch him. A team effort."

Despite the situation, Remus appreciated the irony of the twins speaking simultaneously of a team effort. Then a broomstick fell past him. He watched it fall to the ground, where it shattered from the force of its landing. He stared blankly at the distant fragments for a moment, and then looked up, frantically. He couldn't see Harry. Where was he, if his broom had fallen from the sky?

All of a sudden, a bright flash of white light penetrated the clouds and rain.

* * *

Harry slowly came to, a voice screaming in his ear; he shuddered in the Dementors grasp, repulsed by its wheezing, foul breath.

_Cast the fucking spell! You're a wizard aren't you? Stick your wand in its eyes! You're not just fighting for __**your**__ life here you know!_

He groaned. "Don't… Don't know any spell…"

_Merlin's balls… Just go back to sleep then, let me take care of it._

This seemed a very good idea to Harry. The Dementor seemed to have finished feasting on his happiness, and was now moving onto his physical strength. He felt as if he was being drained of magic as well. He could still hear his mother screaming and dying.

_Expecto Patronum._

The Dementor let go of him as white magic blasted out of his body, sending the Dementor flying. He hung in place for a moment, apparently suspended by the strength of his magic. And then he was falling, barely aware of what was happening. As he fell, he was dimly conscious of screams, not his mother's, and his vision began to clear. He very nearly screamed himself as he saw the ground rushing up to meet him.

Then magic washed over him, just as firm hands grabbed his arms painfully. He looked around to see Fred and George clasping him tightly.

"Ah. Sorry, but I don't think I managed to get the Snitch."

Then he passed out again.

Harry's eyes fluttered open, and he winced at the bright light. He could hear people shifting in their seats around him, and someone took his hand. He opened his eyes fully, squinting, and sat up slightly. With a slight groan, he realised that he was in the Hospital Wing. Again. He couldn't quite remember why, and his throat was too parched to ask anyone. Fortunately, the twins were there, full of good cheer.

"Blimey Harry, you were nearly a goner there!"

"Yep, we thought you'd die this time for sure."

Harry sniggered as Ginny smacked them round the head and they yelped in pain. Hermione handed him a glass of water, and he drank deeply, smiling at her gratefully.

"Thanks… What happened? I remember flying up after the Snitch and then – I'm not sure on everything after that to be honest."

"Dementors showed up at the match." Ron told him. "You were too high up, we couldn't see what was happening through the clouds, but Chang started screaming when she showed up again. It was clearly too much trouble to let you know of course…"

Harry shook his head. "I think she did…" He flinched as the memory came flooding back to him. "Yeah, she did, I just couldn't hear what she was saying. I found out for myself pretty quickly though. They just came out of nowhere…"

"How… How many were there Harry?" Ginny asked him quietly. She looked terrified.

"I don't know. Maybe twenty."

Ginny went pale, and squeezed his hand so tightly he thought she was going to break it. He couldn't blame her though; the thought made him cringe himself. The solitary Dementor they had faced in Diagon Alley had been bad enough. There was silence for a moment, and then Ron, clearly uncomfortable with the silence, carried on the story.

"Yeah, anyway… Well, Professor Lupin went up on a broom after you – these two idiots were there as well – and then your broom just dropped out of the sky. Nothing happened for a minute or so, then there was this flash of light."

"Yeah, we were rather hoping you could tell us what that was young Harry." George said. "You didn't draw your wand."

Harry shook his head. "Dunno… I guess it must have been what happened in Diagon Alley – instinctual magic I think Remus called it…" He stopped talking. He had remembered the voice, telling him to cast the spell. Who had that been? "Did anyone come up after me?"

The others misunderstood. "Oh, we were about to, don't worry about that. Lupin and Hooch were about to go up when you fell, they wasted time trying to get us to bugger off." Fred and George hastened to inform him, both speaking at once. Harry nodded, bemused. Who the hell had been talking to him then? He shook his head, trying to clear it.

"Where is Remus anyway?"

"Dumbledore dragged him and Madame Hooch off, they're making statements to the Minister. He was furious – Dumbledore I mean. He helped save you you know, just flicked his wand and you slowed down enough for the twins to catch you." Neville said.

Harry nodded, rubbing his arms. "Yeah, I remember that. It really hurt! Thanks though."

"Oh, no problem." Fred airily dismissed Harry's thanks, but George looked a little more embarrassed.

"Yeah, we… Well, when we grabbed you, we kinda… Broke your arms."

"_What?_" Harry felt his arms urgently, trying to see if they hurt. George shook his head.

"Madame Pomfrey fixed them just like that, not a problem. She's great at bones she is. And to be fair, if we hadn't grabbed you you'd have been looking at more than a couple of broken arms mate."

"I guess…"

At this point, Madame Pomfrey herself appeared, carrying a large box. Harry eyed it warily.

"Is that for me?"

"Yes Mr Potter, it is. Is that a problem?"

"I hate medical potions, they always taste foul." Harry grumbled. Madame Pomfrey just raised an eyebrow sardonically, putting the box down next to him.

"Maybe you shouldn't get injured so often then. Anyway, this is a little different. The best cure for Dementor exposure is-" she lifted the lid "-chocolate. And lots of it." Sure enough, she lifted out an enormous slab of chocolate. Harry eyed it hungrily, and Ginny sighed jealously.

"So… What, I just eat that?" Harry asked. Madame Pomfrey nodded decisively.

"Yes Potter. All of it. That and a night's bed rest ought to see you up and about in time for Hogsmeade tomorrow, since I'm sure I won't be able to keep you away without a fight."

Harry grinned. "The things I have to suffer huh guys?" He winked at Ginny, and then began to devour the chocolate. She scowled, and fingered her wand in a threatening fashion. Harry submitted, already feeling much better, and threw her a small lump.

"Oi, how come we don't get any?" Ron cried.

"Because none of you are as vindictive as Ginny." Harry said with a shrug. Ron blinked, and then nodded.

"Fair point."

* * *

Ron, Hermione and Neville walked down the road to Hogsmeade in a state of great excitement the next day. It was the day before Halloween, and they couldn't wait for the feast. Harry was a little less excited, although he was feeling slightly more cheerful about it this year. He hadn't been dreaming about his parents' murder at all, other than when a Dementor popped up, and then he was more scared of the Dementor than what he could hear, if he was perfectly honest with himself. He was still somewhat subdued though. He was worried about the voice he had heard. Was it his subconscious? Or something more sinister? It wouldn't be the first time that a Hogwarts pupil had been possessed in recent memory after-all…

He was also feeling a little annoyed with Professor Trelawney. He had been discharged just in time to meet everyone as they waited to be allowed out, and Lavender Brown had practically squealed when she saw him.

"Oh Harry, I'm so glad you're all right! We should have expected it though, after what Professor Trelawney told us."

Harry had looked at her in utter bewilderment, and seen that only Parvati seemed to know what she was talking about.

"I mean, you were playing against Ravenclaw after all. She saw a raven in your tea, said it was a bad omen. So we should have known."

Harry had stared at her blankly, before giving her a brittle smile.

"So she did. Quite right. Nice of her to tell me." And he had stormed off. He was with Hermione on this subject now, he couldn't believe that a teacher could be so irresponsible. He brooded on this as he followed his friends, and did consider the possibilities – quite likely ones – that Lavender was just talking rubbish, or that Trelawney had made a lucky guess without realising. But it still annoyed him.

However, he couldn't remain angry for long, not when he first saw Hogsmeade up close. It was a beautiful village, and didn't seem to have changed at all in the five hundred years since it had been built. It was like something from a postcard, positively idyllic. It was also, at the centre, rather crowded. There was a large population, and the influx of students – pretty much every student at the school above second year, almost two hundred students – made shopping at, say, Honeydukes quite the challenge. Zonko's was easier, simply because most of the residents were not frequent visitors to the joke shop.

Harry and his friends retreated to the friendlier of the two local pubs, The Three Broomsticks, after a mornings shopping. The excitement and strong winds were taking their toll, and they were in dire need of refreshment. To their delight, the barmaid, Madame Rosmerta, was an extremely capable cook – although Ron was much more preoccupied with some of her other attributes, to everyone's amusement.

After lunch, their energy restored, Hermione dragged them off to the Shrieking Shack. Ron was somewhat reluctant to go, having heard about it from his brothers, but Harry knew how to get around that.

"You're not _scared_ are you Ron?"

The red-head flushed almost the same colour as his hair, and scowled at his friend.

"I'm not scared, just sensible! It's supposed to be the most haunted building in Britain, why on earth would I want to go and look at it?"

"I'm sure Madame Rosmerta would be very impressed – you could even bring her something from inside, you know, show her your devotion."

Hermione giggled at this, and Ron flushed even more.

"Oh piss off, I saw you looking as well!"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe, but I'm not embarrassed to admit it. Of course, I don't have Fred and George to worry about… Anyway, are you coming or not?"

"No way! Look, Fred and George don't go up there, and they're insane."

"True, so think how proud of you they'll be."

Ron paused, considering this. Harry knew, although it was never actually said, that Ron was hungry to prove himself, to come out from under the shadow of his older brothers. This would at least get him acknowledged. He smirked slightly as Ron's expression changed, and his friend gave a grudging nod.

"All right then. But I'm not going inside it!"

"Of course." Harry nodded at him. "Maybe next time."

Five minutes later, they were standing at the fence outside the infamous, ramshackle building. Having spoken about it, Ron had no qualms about showing his fear, but Hermione and Neville were doing their best to conceal it. This perhaps had something to do with Harry's demeanour; well aware of the reasons behind the Shack's reputation, he knew that there was no reason to be afraid, and he was quietly laughing to himself. He did have to admit though, the Shack was not a nice-looking building. It looked terrifying in fact.

"Looking to move up in the world Weasley?"

Harry clenched his fists, but otherwise showed no change of expression at the sound of Theodore Nott's arrogant voice. How did the pale boy convey a sneer in his tone of voice? It was an achievement to be proud of he supposed. He noticed that Ron had turned round, and sighed, resigned to an inevitable fight. Sure enough, when he turned round it was to the sight of Nott flanked by Blaise Zabini and the dynamic duo of Crabbe and Goyle.

"It's a bit nicer than anything you could afford I reckon… Still, one should never criticise ambition. Maybe your grandchildren will be able to buy it for your retirement."

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered dully. Harry was impressed that they recognised a joke when they heard it, although he would have bet several galleons that they hadn't understood it. Blaise had a weird half-smile on his face, as if he knew that they would regret tormenting Ron. Harry couldn't blame him for this; every time he and Nott had clashed, it had ended with Nott suffering for it. Ron took a step forward, but was stopped in his tracks by Hermione grabbing him. Nott grinned at this, and looked over at Neville.

"What about you Longbottom? Think you can avoid turning into the vacuous slob that boggart showed you as?"

Neville went white with rage, and charged forward, not even bothering with his wand in his fury. Nott kept his cool though, and things would probably have gone badly for Neville if an eerie moan hadn't echoed around the clearing. Everyone stopped dead, and whirled to look at the Shack. Harry stared in mild surprise as a ghostly figure walked towards them. It was an ugly sight, apparently the victim of a gruesome death. It moaned again, and vanished. Crabbe and Goyle let out a joint shriek as something bit them, and Nott aimed his wand at Harry.

"Stop it Potter, whatever you're doing!"

Harry raised his hands, showing he hadn't drawn his wand. "Not me. Anyway, why would you think it was?"

"Because you're the only one who isn't freaking out!" Nott snarled at him. Harry looked around, and noticed that this was true. Zabini was just visible running round the corner of the path, while Hermione and Neville were cowering. Ron just looked catatonic. Harry turned back to Nott and shrugged.

"I guess I just don't scare easily."

Nott brought his wand back to cast a spell, but was knocked over by Crabbe and Goyle fleeing. The ghostly figure had reappeared, standing very close to where they had been bitten by whatever it was. When Nott looked back at Harry, it was to see him twirling his wand meaningfully. He clearly remembered previous encounters, for he glowered before pocketing his wand and running off himself.

Harry turned to the ghost, if that was what it was. He had a suspicion though. They were confirmed when it changed into a floating sign: Marauders Forever!

"Alright, come on out!"

However, it was not Remus who emerged from the trees, as he had thought it would be, but Sirius and Peter. His godfather was grinning in delight, but Peter was looking down the path, an expression of distaste on his face. Harry ran over to them, pulling Sirius into a hug.

"That was great Sirius! Can you show me how to do it?"

Sirius grinned down at his godson, a cheeky gleam in his eye. "Well, I'm not promising anything, but never say never kiddo. Peter played his part as well though, be fair."

Peter's face flickered at this condescension, but only for a moment. "It's going to take me a while to wash the taste of that boy out of my mouth, so I hope you're grateful Harry."

Harry frowned, so Peter elaborated. "Animagus, remember? I changed and bit him. It's a while since he's washed."

By this time, the others were listening in. Ron let out a weak laugh at Peter's statement, but did not look overly impressed. "You nearly gave me a heart attack! I really thought that there was a ghost there!"

"Sorry Ron." Sirius smiled.

The group began to make their way back down to the village, Ron, Hermione and Neville staying separate from Harry and his guardians, still rather annoyed with them. Harry was full of questions though, and most pressing was concerning their sudden return.

"Well, we heard about Rosier, and about the scrapbook – seemed like a good idea to come back to keep an eye on you, given all the trouble you get into. Besides, it's Halloween tomorrow, I couldn't miss that."

Harry was silent. Sirius went to Godric's Hollow every year on Halloween to pay his respects. He always went alone, but this year…. Harry spoke again.

"Could I come with you?"

* * *

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	10. A Grave Halloween

A/N: The first part of this chapter is inspired by chapters 16 and 17 of _The Deathly Hallows_.

**Chapter 8: A Grave Halloween**

Harry buttoned his cloak with fumbling fingers, wondering if this was really a good idea. Sirius hadn't seemed incredibly enthusiastic about Harry going with him, but he had insisted. Now, he wasn't entirely sure if he should have done. He couldn't decide if he was excited or nervous; both emotions were warring inside him, and he was beginning to feel slightly nauseous. He had never been to Godric's Hollow, not since Voldemort had attacked him, and he had never really felt the need to. His parents were… distant. He had no memory of them other than photos – or, more recently, whenever he got too close to a Dementor. He was sorry they were dead, but he couldn't honestly say that he missed them dreadfully, more that he wished he had known them.

However, Sirius missed them a great deal, especially James. He had gone to their grave every year since their death, alone, before heading home to drink himself into a stupor in a combination of sorrow and guilt. And this year, Harry felt an inexplicable urge to go with him. Perhaps it was because of the Dementors. He had never truly _known_ that they had sacrificed themselves for him, that his mother had begged Voldemort to spare his life. Having heard that… Perhaps it was time that he paid his respects in person.

He had dressed smartly for the occasion, but now felt restricted in his movement. Jeans would have been more comfortable, but he felt they would be somehow inappropriate. He stood in front of the mirror, shuffling his feet. Ron looked over at him.

"Would you stop worrying? You look fine. And it's not as if they're going to notice is it?"

Harry glared at his friend, but knew that, behind the rather tactless remark, Ron did have a point.

"Maybe I should change then, what do you think?"

Ron's gaze softened. "Mate, it isn't going to get easier, however long you put it off. Sirius is waiting for you… You should go. Worry about how you look the next time, ok?"

Harry sighed and nodded, and walked out of the dorm with a wave to his friend. He wandered down the grand staircase, still pondering his emotional conflict. He couldn't quite believe that he was about to see the place he had been born, the place where he might have grown up, but for Voldemort. He wondered, feeling strange about it, if he would have been as close to Dudley, or his aunt and uncle if his parents had survived. Sirius was standing at the bottom of the stairs. He looked uncomfortable, almost annoyed, and Harry suddenly felt guilty, as if he was intruding on his godfather's private grief. This lasted only a moment though, before being replaced by annoyance of his own. Why the hell should he feel guilty? They were his parents, he was entitled to go to their grave on the anniversary of their death if anyone was.

"You ready to go pup?"

Harry nodded, not speaking, and Sirius sighed. He walked away, waving at Harry to follow him. They walked in silence out of the castle, the merriment in the great hall audible as they went past. When they were past the gates, Sirius gripped Harry's shoulder and turned on the spot. Harry had never apparated before, and he wasn't sure he liked it. He felt as if he was being squashed, sucked through a pipe that wasn't wide enough for him. And then they popped out of the darkness, appearing in a small square, with a war memorial in the middle. Harry shivered; it was much colder than it had been at Hogwarts, a bitter wind blowing through the square and chilling his bones. He huddled deeper into his cloak.

"Come on, it's this way." Sirius set off, pausing at the war memorial. Harry stared in shock as it changed shape. Now, instead of a pillar with the names of the dead carved into it, there was a statue of three people. A man, a woman, and their baby. Harry and his parents. It was strangely unsettling for Harry to see himself without a scar. It had been a part of him for so long that he sometimes forgot about it. The stone baby looked alien without it. He stood staring at it for several minutes, before he felt Sirius place his hand on his back. Words were unnecessary; he stepped back, taking one last lingering look at his parents, and followed his godfather towards the church. Some people stumbled out of the pub, and they pointed at Harry and Sirius, laughing at their unusual clothes. Harry ignored them, but Sirius stood still, glowering at them until they left. Harry looked at him curiously, and Sirius hung his head.

"Sorry… It just feels – disrespectful I guess."

"Sirius, they probably don't even know magic's real. This is a Muggle village isn't it?"

"Half and half, like Ottery St Catchpole. Officially, the Muggles who live here don't know about magic, but they've probably got a decent idea. Enough weird stuff goes on around here after all."

They had arrived at the graveyard. Harry pushed open the kissing gate, and hurried down the path. His anxiety was almost completely gone now, he just wanted to find his parents grave. However, he had no idea where to go, and had to wait as Sirius caught up. His godfather led the way towards a gravestone near the middle of the graveyard, made of white marble. It seemed to gleam in the darkness, and Harry could make out the inscription easily.

_James Potter, born 27 March 1960, died 31 October 1981_

_Lily Potter, born 30 January 1960, died 31 October 1981_

_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death_

Harry knelt in front of the grave, drinking it in. He felt a curious sense of anticlimax, as if there should have been something grander. And what did the epitaph mean?

"It's a bible passage… Something about living beyond death. Your aunt chose it."

Harry nodded at Sirius's explanation, but couldn't help but find it a little inaccurate. His parents weren't living beyond death, they were decaying under the earth, unaware of anything, uncaring. It was one of the most depressing things he had ever seen, this lie in their memory, and he was unable repress the tears that fell from his eyes. Sirius squeezed his shoulder tightly. Harry suddenly wished he had brought some flowers or something, but before he could say anything Sirius was muttering a spell. Flowers began to sprout from a patch of earth to the side of the marble, beautiful roses. Harry smiled tearfully up at his godfather, and stood up, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"You ok?" The question was expected, but the tone wasn't. Sirius sounded cold, uncaring. For a moment Harry wanted him to let go, to show his feelings, to show that he felt the same as his godson. The moment passed; Harry was fairly sure he wouldn't have a clue what to do if Sirius did unburden himself to him. Sirius stood gazing at the gravestone a moment longer, and then turned on his heel. Harry scurried after him back towards the kissing gate. As they reached it, Sirius paused, cocking his head like a bird.

"Sirius?"

His godfather made no reply, but drew his wand, lighting up the tip and the graveyard. He aimed the wand-light at the bushes by the path, and held it there. Harry stared after it curiously, but could see nothing.

"Sirius? What's wrong?"

"Hush. I thought I heard something."

Harry looked back at the bushes nervously, but could see nothing. But now that Sirius had pointed it out, Harry also felt as if he was being watched. The hairs on the back of his neck were prickling, and he began to back away. The bushes rustled, but nothing happened. Then a rabbit bounded out of the bush. Sirius lowered his wand with a sigh.

"Sorry. I was sure I'd heard something bigger than that. Do you want to go back now, or would you like to go to the house?"

"It's still here?" Harry said, amazed.

"Of course," Sirius nodded. "It was left there as a memorial, like the one in the square."

Harry followed him, gobsmacked. No-one had told him that his parents house still existed, and he was a little hurt that it had been concealed from him. Surely he had the right to know of its existence? He said nothing of this to Sirius, walking along in resentful silence. Sirius didn't seem to notice; he was too busy looking behind them in anxiety every few paces. And then they rounded a corner, and Harry spotted his old house. It was hard to miss; it hadn't been repaired since the attack, so was the only house on the street that had most of the second floor missing.

What remained of the house was covered in ivy, and the garden more closely resembled a miniature jungle, and rubble from the explosion was scattered around. He put his hands on the rusting gate, seeking a connection, preparing to open it – he wasn't entirely sure which. There was a rush of magic, and before his eyes a wooden sign rose from the ground. It too was covered in weeds, but also in shining golden letters.

_On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981,_

_Lily and James Potter lost their lives._

_Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever_

_to have survived the Killing Curse._

_This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left_

_in its ruined state as a reminder of the violence_

_that tore apart their family._

Harry grinned in pleasure as he realised that there were many other messages, aside from the official inscription. Whether they were scrawled in magical ink or carved directly into the wood, they were all respectful and supportive, and far more important to him than the dry, self-important message from the Ministry. He squeezed the gate, ignoring the pain as rust flaked into his hand. The gate glowed for a moment, and then swung open, evidently powered by magic. Harry stared, puzzled, then took a step through.

"Harry."

He looked back. Sirius was looking disapproving, almost angry.

"You shouldn't go in there, it's-"

"What Sirius? Disrespectful? It's my house!"

"I was going to say not safe." Sirius finished, speaking quietly. "It's the ruin of a house that was half blown up over a decade ago. Do you really think you'll be able to walk around in it?"

Godson and godfather stared at each other implacably, neither willing to give any ground. Harry was determined to go inside, to see the place he had lived, to see where his parents had died for him. Why couldn't Sirius just let him? Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but what he had been about to say, Harry never knew. He was interrupted by a flash of light, and Sirius fell to the ground, blood pouring from a slash across his cheek. Another flash, and Sirius stiffened, placed in a body-bind. Harry spun round, and felt his gut clench in fear and anger.

Evan Rosier was standing there.

The Death Eater was looking gaunt; it had clearly been a while since he had eaten a decent meal. There was still a gleaming intelligence in his eyes though, which was perhaps the scariest thing about him in a way. He was spinning his stolen wand between his fingers in a playful fashion, and when he spoke, it was in silky tones, eerily reminiscent of Snape.

"Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. I've read so much about you Harry…" He pulled a book from his robes, and a scrap of paper fell from it, blowing over to Harry. He glanced at it, recognising Rita Skeeter's last article about him, and took a step towards Rosier as he realised that it must be the scrapbook belonging to the girl Rosier had killed. He flicked his eyes back up, and they blazed with righteous anger.

"Ooh, have I made you angry Master Potter? I hope so, I do love it when people fight back." Rosier grinned nastily. "The Godwin's barely put up a struggle Harry – do you mind if I call you Harry? – it was quite pathetic. No fighting spirit at all. Maybe you can provide me with a bit of sport." He began to pace from side to side, now tapping his wand against his thigh. Harry drew his own wand, but stood still, focussing on his opponent's wand arm.

"I met your father once you know Harry, about a year before his death. He was quite an impressive duellist." Rosier continued conversationally. "He gave me a nasty burn on my back; I left him with a trio of scars on his right shoulder. It was one of the most… _intense _experiences of my life." He licked his lips, but Harry was still watching the wand. Rosier smirked, flexing the fingers of his other hand.

"Do you think that you can provide me with an equal challenge Harry? Do you think you can prove yourself on this most ironic of battlegrounds, scene of your greatest triumph and of my greatest loss? Do you think your parents are looking down on us now, cheering you on?"

Harry looked up and flung his arm back to cast in an impressively swift movement. But Rosier didn't need to; he flicked his wandless arm out, and lightning crackled from his fingertips, soaking into Harry's body. He was thrown back, screaming in agony, and fell to the ground, gasping for breath, smoke rising from seared skin and scorched clothes. Rosier walked forward, dispelling the lightning and chuckling to himself.

"You should have been watching my eyes, not my wand Harry." He knelt over the boy, grabbing his hair and yanking his head up. He stared into Harry's eyes, and Harry realised that intelligence didn't necessarily mean sane. "Now, let's have some fun shall we Harry? I think it would be fun, for a start at least, for you to cut the flesh from your arm and eat it, what do you say?"

Harry began to stammer incoherently, babbling protests, pleas and spells in no particular order. Rosier only smiled mockingly.

"What's the matter _hero_? Can't you cope with a single Death Eater? Don't worry, do as I say and I won't force you to watch the agonising death I'll be meting out-"

Rosier snarled as he was thrown away, yanking some of Harry's hair with him. Sirius was back on his feet. The two adults (and Harry had never been so happy to see Sirius) stood still for a moment, appraising each other as if in silent communication. Then they were moving, their wands slashing through the air like swords, a dizzying barrage of spells flying between them. Harry watched, staggered, as Sirius conjured a block of ice before banishing it at Rosier, blowing it up in mid-air so the Death Eater was showered with sharp shards of ice. Rosier grimaced, clutching his shoulder, but it barely slowed him down, and he quickly cast a spell at Sirius, sending a hail of fiery arrows at him. As Sirius blocked these, Rosier flicked his wand again, and Sirius screamed in pain, sinking to the floor. Rosier raised his wand again, and spat out another spell.

"_Discrimino!_"

Sirius's eyes widened, and he disapparated with a _crack_, reappearing about a foot behind Rosier just as the new spell split the ground where he had been kneeling in two. He seemed to have shaken off the effects of the spell Rosier had hit him with, because almost instantly he was jabbing his wand towards Rosier with a cry of "_Depello!_" Rosier was thrown forward and hit the ground with an awful thud; for a moment, Harry thought he had been knocked unconscious. However, as Sirius ran towards him, he flicked his arm out, conjuring a cloud of smoke around them. There were more flashes of light within it, but when it cleared neither had gained any advantage. Both were standing still, catching their breath, and Rosier opened his mouth. Sirius flicked his wand, and Rosier looked befuddled when no sound came from his mouth.

Sirius pressed his advantage, swishing his wand upwards, then twirling it in steady circles. The first action seemed to have no effect, other than to cause Rosier to clutch his mouth, but the second resulted in a powerful gust of wind, which blew Rosier backwards at a steady rate. Suddenly the wind shifted, blowing up from beneath Rosier, throwing him into the air. Rosier, who seemed to have dispelled the charms on his voice, only sneered, moving his wand in a complicated movement. A cloud of swords appeared around him, starlight glinting on the metal. Another movement, and they flew towards Sirius, point first. They seemed to have a mind of their own, weaving around his attempts to destroy them, and Sirius apparently didn't notice Rosier sinking gracefully to the floor and casting another spell.

"_Omentum depello!_" Harry recognised this one, and the incantation chilled his blood. The Entrail Expelling Curse had become infamous during the war against Voldemort, and he had never expected to see it used against someone, least of all his godfather. Without thinking, he cast a spell of his own. Sirius was knocked sideways, and Rosier's curse flew past him, impacting against a tree. It burst into flames.

Rosier turned to Harry, madness blazing in his eyes, and Harry heard, as if from a distance, an incantation that he had never heard before. He screamed, feeling as if dragon-fire was igniting beneath his skin. And then the spell was lifted, and there were other voices, and Rosier was roaring in defiance. Harry looked up, racked with pain, fighting to avoid blacking out. Rosier was standing behind a conjured shield of silver, but there were five Aurors firing spells at him now; he would be caught or killed for sure. However, the Death Eater had one more trick up his sleeve. With another jab of his wand, he cried out another spell.

"_Cremo!_"

A wall of fire licked out over the Aurors, who stopped casting spells at Rosier in their desperation to avoid it. Harry could feel the heat from where he was lying, a good six or seven feet away. Rosier turned around, and their eyes met. Rosier grinned, once, viciously, and then disapparated with a loud _crack_. With a gasp of relief, Harry finally succumbed to the pain.

* * *

A/N: _Discrimino: _to divide/sunder

_Depello: _Expel, more powerful version of banishing charm

_omentum depello_: entrail expelling curse

_Cremo_: Extremely powerful burning curse

Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	11. A Traitor Confirmed

**Chapter 9: A Traitor Confirmed**

Remus sprinted along the corridors of Hogwarts, holding Harry close. His ward was whimpering with pain. Remus and Dumbledore had arrived at Godric's Hollow just as Rosier had apparated out, and he had been appalled at the desecration of the sight of the Potters' death. Sirius had thrust Harry at him, telling him to get him out, that Rosier had done something to him. Remus thought he knew what it was. It was nearly the full moon, and his senses were getting sharper; he could smell Harry's blood, and given that he didn't seem to be cut, that was a very bad thing.

He kicked open the door to the Hospital Wing, yelling for Madam Pomfrey as he practically threw Harry down onto a bed. A student in a bed further along the ward awoke with a gasp at the noise, and Remus had to control his urge to snarl at the boy. He drew the curtains around Harry with a flick of his wand as Pomfrey arrived, a furious expression on her face.

"What on earth is going on? Don't you realise this is a hospital Remus?"

"It's Harry. He was attacked by Evan Rosier, I don't know what's wrong with him." Remus told her, dragging her over to his ward.

Madame Pomfrey pursed her lips, and waved her wand in a long, complicated motion, muttering to herself. Parts of Harry's body flickered with blue light, and she nodded to herself grimly. Then a deep red glow started to shine, apparently from beneath his skin. She went white. Frantically, she scribbled something on some parchment, and thrust it into his hands.

"Go and get Severus, tell him I need these potions, as quickly as he can brew them. Now!"

Remus left the room at a run, panicking even more now. If Poppy was worried about it… He didn't even remember his sprint to Snape's quarters in the dungeon, it was almost as if he had apparated straight there. He pounded on the door desperately. Endless moments later, Snape opened the door, a cold expression on his face.

"Lupin? I didn't realise we were so close. To what to I owe the… pleasure of this visit?"

Remus thrust the parchment at him without a word. Snape read it without speaking, a raised eyebrow the only indication he was paying any attention. He turned and strolled back to his private lab. Remus followed him, watching him intently. Snape remained silent as he lit a flame under a cauldron, and began to chop some ingredients that Remus couldn't identify. The care and attention he lavished on them was astonishing; Remus could see that each piece was exactly the same size and shape, and they were added at a steady, unhurried pace. The art of it was lost on him. Harry was dying, he was sure of it. He finally spoke as Snape began to stir the potion, infinitely slowly.

"Severus, just brew the bloody potion! We don't have time for finesse, Harry could be dying!"

"And if the potion is brewed incorrectly, then he will definitely die. Think in the long-term, not the short-term Lupin. I assume you want the boy to live?"

"Of course I do, how _dare_ you suggest otherwise?" Remus hissed, hunching his shoulders, unconsciously, into a defensive position. Snape looked over his shoulder, and his eyes narrowed.

"Then don't hurry me. I'm quite sure you don't have the guts to cope with having that on your conscience."

Remus seethed quietly to himself as Snape turned calmly back to the potion, adding more ingredients, stirring it carefully and adjusting the temperature. He suddenly realised that the potion had been brewing for nearly an hour.

"Damn it Snape, this is ridiculous! Harry-"

"Has somehow managed to boil his own blood, a staggering achievement even for him. Might I ask how he managed?"

"It was Rosier – Snape, if he dies-"

"Lupin, I assure you; if Potter dies, I will be most upset. Seriously, there might even be tears."

Snape's acidic, smooth sarcasm finally pushed Remus too far, his anxiety, combined with the stress of the approaching full moon boiling over. He lunged forward with a snarl, plucking Snape from the floor easily, and slammed him against the wall. Snape grunted in pain, and there was a crack as a bone in his arm broke. Remus pushed hard against the Potions Master, his hand clasped around his neck; he had never really seen Snape for what he really was before he decided, rage and bloodlust clouding his eyes.

"Maybe you don't want Harry cured Snape… _Snivellus_. Maybe you _knew_ that Rosier would be at Godric's Hollow tonight, maybe you told him to go?" Remus was growling now, and he could almost feel his teeth extending into fangs. His rage was forcing his transformation on him early, and for the first time in his life, he didn't care. He was going to tear Snivellus' throat out…

There was a flash of silver light, and Remus was thrown backwards, sprawling onto the ground, whimpering in pain. Before he had a chance to recover, Snape had grabbed him, and was jabbing his wand into Remus' throat. His dark eyes were glittering with murderous malice.

"_Never_ accuse me of working with Death Eaters voluntarily. _Never_ accuse me of betraying Dumbledore. _Never_ accuse me of placing students in danger. And _never_ touch me again… _wolf_."

Silence fell over the lab, broken only by the soft bubbling of the potion, and Remus' heavy breathing. He was mortified. He had never lost control like that, and to do it in front of Snape – _to_ Snape… It was appalling. He tried to convey this to Snape with his eyes, unable to form coherent sentences, but the Potions Master just sneered, and threw him back to the ground.

"Get out Lupin. I'll bring the potion up when it's ready."

Remus pulled himself to his feet, looking to Snape to try and voice an apology. But the dour man was ignoring him, standing with his back to him. So Remus retreated, only to finally pluck up the courage necessary at the door.

"I'm… I'm sorry Severus."

There was no reply. Remus sighed, and made his way slowly back to the Hospital Wing.

* * *

Remus was slumped in a chair, watching Harry soak in the potion bath. His ward was still unconscious, sedated with Dreamless Sleep potion; the pain inflicted by a Blood Boiling curse was carefully measured to cause the maximum pain without making the victim pass out. Had Harry not taken the potion, his screams would have woken up the whole castle. Remus had lost track of how long Harry had been in the bath, caught up as he was in his anxiety and his shame. Snape had said nothing when he delivered the potion, hadn't even looked at him. Remus had been equally silent, unwilling to talk about it in front of Madam Pomfrey. He knew one thing though; Snape could bear a grudge for years. It might be months, but he knew Severus would try and take his revenge.

Sirius had returned from Godric's Hollow in a foul temper. He hadn't gone into too much detail, saying only that they hadn't been able to track Rosier. His anger seemed curiously disproportionate though. Remus had put it down to a combination of concern for Harry and embarrassment at being beaten. He couldn't see what there was to be embarrassed about to be honest. Rosier was a vicious killer. Sirius was not. Given that disadvantage, it was hardly surprising that he had lost.

As he mused, the door burst open, and Harry's friends crowded in. Despite his melancholy mood, Remus was amused to note that Hermione immediately went beet red, and turned her back with a squeak at the sight of Harry's chest. Surprisingly enough, Ginny didn't seem to mind, although he supposed that she would have seen more of him when they went swimming. They gathered round the bath, muttering amongst themselves. Remus suspected that they hadn't seen him.

"Hello."

He had been right. Ginny jumped into the air with a shriek. He was proud to see that Ron and Neville's hands went immediately to their pockets as they turned. They relaxed having identified him, and greeted him with less formality than they might speak to other staff.

"I suppose Professor McGonagall filled you in on what happened?" he continued.

A look of disgust crossed Hermione's face.

"No. One of the Aurors spoke to the Prophet… off the record of course. Skeeter was only too happy to report it; it was in the early editions. It was Rosier wasn't it? What did he do? Is Harry going to be ok?"

Remus grimaced at this information. Harry wouldn't be happy about that… Not that he was terribly impressed either, but he couldn't afford to lose his temper again…

"Yes, he'll be fine. Rosier cursed him, as you might have guessed, but the potion he's soaking in should sort it out. His own magic was fighting back rather impressively as well, he should be up and about by the end of the week."

"The end of the _week?_ What did that git do to him?" Ginny asked, stunned.

"He cast a Blood Boiling curse on him."

They fell silent. Neville and the two Weasley's would have heard of the curse; it had been rather popular during the war. And if Hermione hadn't read about it, it didn't require much imagination to work out what it did, if only a general picture. Specifically, it heated the blood in your veins to an incredible heat, slowly boiling all the moisture out of your body. It was a slow, excruciating death for those who weren't given medical attention soon enough. There was a point after which nothing could be done except end the pain. Ron swore, foully and quietly. Remus didn't take points. He knew precisely how the red-head felt.

* * *

_Go my servant; do my bidding._

Harry sat bolt upright, panting in fear. He had been dreaming of dark eyes, madness shining deep within them, and of a cold voice – his voice. His own eyes flicked around the room, trying to work out where he was, and he flopped onto his back with a groan as he realised he was back in the Hospital Wing.

"Believe me Mr. Potter, I know precisely how you feel." Madam Pomfrey was bustling over to him, carrying another potion. Harry eyed it with distaste.

"I have spent entirely too much time in here this term. Nothing personal, but I was in here just yesterday!"

"If by yesterday you mean after your Quidditch match, then you mean last week. You've been asleep for nearly a week. It's Thursday evening."

Harry stared at her, blinking in confusion. Then he remembered. Rosier. He felt bile rising in his stomach, and he rolled out of bed, half running, half stumbling towards the bathroom. He staggered through the door, slamming it behind him and charming it shut, before he fell over, grabbing the sink tightly. He vomited, wincing at the foul stench. Healing potions had a bad effect on him. He slumped to the floor, his stomach still feeling delicate, and thought back to Godric's Hollow.

Rosier had been devastating. He had been wrong, he didn't have a chance in a duel against a Death Eater. Rosier had walked all over him – he had never felt so useless. And he had come closer to dying than ever before. That thought echoed around his head, and his stomach rebelled once more. He vomited again, casting a cleaning charm afterwards. He splashed water over his face, trying to wash the taste of his bile away.

A vision of ice flashed through his mind, and for a moment he remembered the strange dreams, the unknown, arrogant voice. He sank to his knees as it spoke to him.

_I can help you._

Harry looked up at his reflection in the mirror, terrified about what he might see. Was one of his eyes a different colour? He couldn't see properly…

_I'm not evil Harry… You can trust me. I've saved you so many times already, I swear._

"No…"

There was an edge to Harry's voice, a whisper of power. The water coming out of the tap froze, and he realised that he had added his magic to the denial. He thought he heard the voice hiss in pain, but it said nothing else. He was alone in his head again… For the moment. He could remember now. The memory of the dreams wasn't going away. The idea of someone – or something – living inside his head scared him almost as much as the prospect of another round with Rosier. Was he always in control? And who was it anyway? An awful thought struck him.

Riddle.

The shade of Voldemort's past had been inside his head in the Chamber, he knew that much. Could something have stayed behind? What if he was made to do something, like Ginny had been controlled last year? Dumbledore had said he wouldn't have to worry about anything like that, but the Headmaster had been wrong before…

He shook his head. Madam Pomfrey was knocking on the door, asking if he was alright. He checked the mirror again, spelling his mouth clean. His eyes were normal, nothing sinister about them at all. He was pale and shaking, but he could pass that off as the effects of his sickness. He walked out, and submitted to her 'tender' care.

He knew one thing though. Dumbledore would have to be told about his strange dream the other night, when he had seemed to be looking out of Voldemort's eyes. If Voldemort really was getting his followers back, then steps needed to be taken as soon as possible.

* * *

It was awhile before he actually managed to get hold of the Headmaster though. There just wasn't time. Madam Pomfrey had released him on the Friday afternoon, apparently quite glad to see the back of him, and his afternoon, when not in lessons, had been spent filling in his friends on what had happened. They had been horrified at Rosier's actions, especially given the location – although as Ron had pointed out, Death Eaters hadn't been known for their sensitivity. He had then confessed to them that Rosier would probably try and get hold of him again. Ron had looked mildly ill at this, but Ginny had made him smile.

"_We'll look out for you Harry. He'll have to go through us first!"_

_He had looked at in mild amusement, but she just stared him down, utterly straight-faced._

"_You saved me last year; it is my turn."_

It was rather sweet, but Harry was already feeling inadequate enough after the drubbing Rosier had given him; he didn't really want a girl a year younger than him trying to defend him. Apart from anything else, Ginny was not a particularly brilliant witch. Not bad by any stretch of the imagination, but she didn't shine in the way Harry and Hermione did. Her Bat-Bogey hex was justly feared in the Weasley household, but Rosier wouldn't even notice it. Maybe he could ask Remus to extend his duelling classes to his friends. They were logical targets after all – as far as logic came into it for people like Rosier. There might be cries of favouritism, but it could be explained if necessary.

On Monday, Harry entered the Great Hall for dinner, looking out for Dumbledore as he did so. His weekend had been spent hurriedly catching up on the work he had missed. He was sure that Snape at least would not cut him any slack for having had his blood boiled, but he didn't really care. It was Divination he was worried about. Trelawney would love seeing him after his near death experience.

Dumbledore arrived in the middle of Harry's pudding. The old man never ate much, and Harry kept a careful eye on him throughout the meal. Once he appeared to have finished eating, Harry walked over to him purposefully. Dumbledore smiled at him as he walked up.

"Ah, Harry. So good to see you up and about once more." Snape snorted derisively at this. No-one paid any attention to him. "What can I do for you?"

"I just need to talk to you about something sir. In private."

Dumbledore looked quizzically at him, but nodded and stood up, beckoning Harry after him. Once they were safely ensconced in Dumbledore's office, Harry told him about the dream, about the hooded man swearing his loyalty to Voldemort, about the mission to find Rosier. By the time he had finished speaking, the headmaster was looking grave.

"Troublesome indeed Harry. When did you have this dream?"

"A week ago last Friday sir. Before the match."

The headmaster's eyes flickered momentarily, as if in memory of something, but he only nodded. He stood, and walked over to a cabinet in the corner. When he returned, he was carrying a large silver basin, with marks that Harry recognised as runes around the edge. He placed it on the desk, and drew his wand.

"Harry, I wonder if you would be so good as to allow me to examine the dream in person?"

Harry looked at him in confusion. How would he do that?

"This is a Pensieve Harry. I can use it to examine memories. It won't hurt at all, I promise you."

Harry eyed the basin warily, but he trusted Dumbledore, and so he nodded. Dumbledore reached across the desk, touching his wand to Harry's head. A weird sensation washed around him, as if something was fishing inside his skull. And then Dumbledore was drawing his wand back, and there was a silvery string of liquid dangling from the end of it. He dropped it into the Pensieve, and then lowered his head towards it. Harry thought he was just leaning in for a closer look, but in fact the headmaster was sucked into the Pensieve head first. Harry nearly fell out of his seat in shock. In the corner, Fawkes squawked in what Harry thought might be amusement.

A few minutes later, Dumbledore reappeared. Despite the liquid appearance of what Harry had realised was his memory, he was bone dry, aside from his beard. It made him look even more eccentric than he normally did. He also looked angry.

"Sir? What's wrong?"

"That hooded man. It was Caradoc Dearborn."

* * *

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	12. Memories and Friendship

**Chapter 10: Memories and Friendship**

The Marauders had not been happy to find out about Harry's dream – or vision, if that was truly what it had been. Sirius had taken it especially badly; he seemed to be scared to meet Harry's eyes, as if he was worried he would see Voldemort staring out at him. Of course, that did nothing for Harry's own fears, but he didn't have to worry about that for long. Two days after he had told Dumbledore about the vision, Sirius and Peter had disappeared again. Remus had let slip that they had gone back to Albania to see what they could find. Not that Remus thought they would find much. It had been nearly two weeks before Harry was able to tell Dumbledore anything, what with recovering from nearly being boiled alive.

And of course, the attention Harry was receiving from the school at large was just an added problem to his already extensive list. The Prophet had reported Rosier's attack, so everyone knew he had been injured. And the Hogwarts rumour mill was clearly working at full strength. Despite the fact that no-one seemed to have talked about precisely what had happened to him, half the school seemed to know for certain that he had been hit with a blood boiling curse. On the other hand, most of the other half was convinced that he had been eaten by Rosier's pet hydra, so he was grateful for small mercies.

Those few students who weren't discussing the rumours were far more interested in his collapse at the Quidditch match. Predictably, this particular group of students was largely made up of Theodore Nott and his friends. Whenever they saw Harry they would pretend to swoon and scream. They seemed to have conveniently forgotten that after fainting, Harry had then driven the Dementors away with an explosion of magic, but since he couldn't explain what he had done, he couldn't come up with a suitable rebuttal. It was even worse in Potions, where Snape seemed to be determined to drive him mad. Nott could probably have brought a Dementor into the dungeon and fed Harry to it without criticism from the Potions master. He was furious about something it was clear, but Harry had no idea what was wrong. He had asked Remus, but had only been told that it was nothing for him to worry about.

Still, on the upside, he hadn't had any weird dreams since waking in the hospital wing. He wasn't sure why, but he wasn't going to complain. He just wished he could talk to someone about it. But Remus had enough on his plate, as did Dumbledore. And his friends wouldn't really know anything about it. Or could they?

* * *

Wasn't she ever alone? Ginny always seemed to be with someone, either her year-mates or actually with Harry and his friends. She didn't even study alone, which he was sure was a bad work ethic. It wasn't as if he never saw her, but he didn't much want to talk about whether or not he was being possessed in front of the others. And friendly though they were, they weren't in the habit of doing their own thing separate from the group. Much like the twins, Ron and Ginny were a package. Harry rather pitied anyone trying to date Ginny in the future; Ron would be sure to try and tag along to keep an eye on the unfortunate would-be partner.

Still, Harry was nothing if not persistent. And eventually, about a week after his conversation with Dumbledore, he managed to get Ginny on her own, as Hermione and Neville wandered off after dinner, engrossed in a debate about the latest theory of magic Binns had been lecturing them on. Harry slowly began to fall behind, and Ginny stayed with him, curious.

"Can I have a word with you? In private."

An uneasy expression fell across Ginny's face, but she nodded. They ducked into a classroom without the others noticing, and Harry charmed the door shut. Ginny perched herself on a desk, her arms folded, and met his gaze levelly.

"So. What can I do for you O mysterious one?"

Her sarcasm couldn't hide the tremor in her voice. Was she scared to be alone with him?

"I wanted to ask you something… about last year."

Ginny smiled, and relaxed, unfolding her arms.

"Oh right, that's fine."

He looked at her quizzically, and she smirked.

"Harry, when a boy asks a girl if he can speak to her alone, then it's generally about one thing…"

They looked at each other for a moment, before simultaneously shuddering in disgust.

"No offense Ginny, but that isn't going to happen."

"None taken, believe me. So, what did you want to know?"

"I was wondering… about Riddle."

She tensed again, distaste for the subject evident. Harry shrugged apologetically, and continued.

"Did you have any strange dreams while he was possessing you?"

Ginny frowned in contemplation, and remained silent for a moment. She eventually shook her head, having to push her hair out of her eyes as she did so.

"No… No, I don't think so. Why?"

Harry hesitated. But Ginny wouldn't let him get away with not answering. "I've been having these dreams. Someone speaking to me, trying to get me to 'let him out'. And I know that Riddle got into my mind for a moment or two in the Chamber – I'm scared that something might have stuck around."

Ginny folded her arms again, unusually sombre. She was looking at Harry as if he wasn't there – and he suddenly realised that he didn't know if she knew what Riddle had looked like. If she did, then the resemblance between Riddle and himself would surely unsettle her. However, before he could say anything she replied.

"I don't remember any dreams, and I'm mostly recovered. I'm still a little hazy here and there, but nothing like that. I do remember seeing what was happening when he was in control now though. Is that what's happening in these dreams?"

Harry shook his head. "No, it's definitely a dream." He sat down next to her. "It's like I'm back home at Privet Drive; there's someone – something – trapped inside the understairs cupboard, calling to me to let it out, and the door is covered in ice. I've been dreaming about it for months. And I've heard the voice at other times as well."

"When? Hearing voices is generally a bad thing Harry, even if you aren't being possessed."

"I know that. The only time I can remember is during the match. It was trying to get me to attack the Dementors; I think that it might have been the one to cast the spell, not that instinctual magic Remus was going on about."

"You think it saved you?" Ginny asked him, frowning.

"Well… Yeah, I guess so. Hadn't really thought about it like that to be honest. I'm a little more focussed on the fact that someone seems to be inside my head using my magic."

"Understandable…" Ginny said, in distracted tones. She wasn't even looking at him now, gazing at the wall in a manner strangely reminiscent of Zacharias Smith. Harry's guts clenched at the unexpected blast from the past, and turned away from her quickly. Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice his discomfort.

"It doesn't sound like anything that happened to me last year Harry. And it doesn't sound that bad to be honest. I mean, if he – or is it she? – is only trying to save you then I'd welcome it. Particularly now Rosier's trying to use you for target practice…"

"I know… But it isn't just the voice. I sometimes think that my eyes have changed colour; I look in the mirror after a dream and I've got red eyes, just like Lockhart."

Ginny shivered, and wrapped her arms around herself. Harry reached out to her, but withdrew his arm when she tensed up. There was an uncomfortable silence, before Ginny looked at him apologetically.

"Sorry. But I do remember that… Lockhart's eyes were red when he kidnapped me."

Harry scowled, the old anger resurfacing, but he pushed it down as best he could, burying it under a memory of Ginny waking up in the Chamber, and he basked in the warm glow of satisfaction it prompted. He reached out again, and this time she leaned into him, hugging him with a friendly grin.

"Anyway, enough of that! If you are being possessed, whoever it is isn't doing a very good job of it. I mean, they'd want to keep it a secret wouldn't they? And nothing suspicious has been happening around here – apart from the Dementors, and they're hardly your fault. Why don't you ask Dumbledore?"

"He's got more important things to worry about, same for Remus."

Ginny met his eyes, looking irritated. "I'm sure they wouldn't think that you know. Although… when was the last time Dumbledore had a root around in your head?"

"Just before Halloween…" Harry said slowly, her point dawning on him. They both smiled. If Dumbledore had been looking through his mind – and now that he thought about it, Dumbledore had mentioned the representation of Privet Drive last year, so he _would _have seen it – then the Headmaster would have known if there was a foreign presence in Harry's mind. It wasn't as if he had the mental skill of Lockhart for something to hide behind as the shade of Riddle had done. There couldn't be anyone in his head! Then Harry slumped, his face falling once more.

"Now what's wrong?"

"Well, if there isn't someone talking to me, then what the hell's going on?" He jumped up from the desk and began to pace, running his hands through his hair with nervous energy. Ginny watched him in concern, biting her lip.

"Well… When have you heard this voice? Outside of dreams I mean."

Harry paused in his pacing, and took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. "Apart from dreams… I heard it during the match, when the Dementors had me. And when I woke up in the Hospital Wing after Rosier attacked me."

"Is that it?"

"That I can remember, yes. Why?"

"Those aren't exactly normal circumstances are they? Dreams aside, are you sure you're not imagining it?"

Harry stared at her. "Well, well yeah. I mean, I can't be. Can I?"

Ginny smiled sympathetically at him. "Given the kind of stress you were under at the time, I'm fairly sure you could have been. I think you're freaking out over nothing Harry."

Harry stared at her, hope blossoming in his eyes. "Do you really think so?"

She shrugged. "That's the best I can come up with. Dumbledore could probably tell you more. He'd want to know Harry. So would Ron and the others. Why are you keeping this so secret anyway?

"I'm freaked out about this thing – well, if it does actually exist – as it is; I don't need Hermione trying to examine me to death. And I don't need Ron and Neville trying to cheer me up."

"You're being stupid about this. They're your friends, they'd want to know. If you don't want pity then why are you telling me about it?" Ginny was almost shouting at him, her face flushed with anger.

"Because I thought after last year you might be able to help me – which you have. And I trust you not to tell anyone." Harry told her quietly. She blinked, letting his statement sink in.

"You do?"

"Of course," he told her, mildly irritated that she didn't know that already. However, his assertion seemed to have achieved the desired affect; Ginny's anger now looked to be tempered by embarrassment.

"Well… Well, thank you. That's – nice. Good to know." She spoke awkwardly, still flushed, and Harry grinned at her, rolling his eyes. Her expression swiftly changed to a mock-scowl, and she flicked her arm out, cuffing him round the head. He ducked, chuckling. "Fine, I'll keep your secrets, and I'll keep an eye out for anything weird you do – well, more than usual anyway."

Harry's only response was to poke his tongue out at her playfully.

* * *

November passed into December peacefully, only disturbed by the normal quirks of life at Hogwarts; Seamus Finnegan had suffered Snape's wrath after nearly setting fire to the dungeon they were taught in, and had suffered a night in the hospital wing in addition to his week of non-magical detentions, while Harry had been highly amused to see Theodore Nott turn his arm to metal with a careless wave of his wand during a Transfiguration lesson. Divination was becoming more and more tiresome; Trelawney had started predicting Harry's death roughly twice a lesson following Rosier's attack, which had started out as amusing before quickly turning tedious. It did at least seem to have finally convinced Ron that the Grim in his tea-leaves had been a figment of her imagination, which was a bonus.

However, it was in the first week of December that Harry came to an awful realisation. He had a Quidditch game in the first week of the Spring term, and he had no idea how to repel Dementors. Dumbledore had insisted the Ministry lay further wards around the school after the pitch invasion, and rumour had it that the Headmaster had then augmented the Ministry's efforts himself. However, two and a bit years at Hogwarts had taught Harry to be prepared, if nothing else. And he couldn't be sure of any useful practice over the holidays, due to the Ministry restrictions on under-age magic.

Hoping to do something about this, he collared Remus after the next Defence lesson. His guardian reacted with nervous excitement to Harry's request.

"Well, I can certainly try and teach you Harry – although I don't claim to be an expert on the subject at all. I should have done something sooner really, you're a natural target for the Dementors, whatever restrictions are placed on them."

"Why is that?" Harry asked curiously. Remus scowled.

"Because Dementors are abominations. They feed off happiness, hope, and power. They'll suck every last drop of good from you, and take your soul for good measure. And given your past, there's a lot of misery for them to inspire in you. Add to the equation the fact that you're one of the more powerful people in the castle and you've got a recipe for disaster. And there's no way to kill them, you can only drive them away temporarily. Of course," he said more cheerfully, "That might mean that you'll find casting the spell easier. Don't push yourself too hard though. It's a tricky one; it requires great strength of mind and will. There aren't many adult wizards who can cast it successfully Harry, so don't expect too much, at least this early."

Harry nodded, but he was mentally vowing that he would master the charm by the time he next played Quidditch.

"I'll need a couple of days to prepare everything Harry; come back on Wednesday and we'll give it a shot. I'll try and get hold of another Boggart for you, you can practice against it. Until then, I want you to try and think of your happiest memory, you'll need it to power the charm."

Harry spent the next few days thinking of little else. It was harder than he thought it would be. He'd had a pretty good life all things considered, and narrowing it down to just one memory was tricky. Perhaps a memory of something he enjoyed? But he couldn't exactly say playing Quidditch inspired _happiness_ in him. Enjoyment yes, but that wasn't what he wanted. A memory of his family? Well, plenty of happy memories there. Perhaps his eighth birthday – that had been a deliriously exciting day; his Aunt and Uncle had hired a clown for his party. He had been high on the adrenaline buzz for several days. Yes… That should be good enough.

Harry bolted his dinner down on Wednesday evening, eager for his lesson to begin. Quite apart from potentially being able to defend himself better, the prospect of learning a new spell, particularly such an advanced one, was intoxicating. Making his excuses to his friends, he scurried up to the third floor, knocking hurriedly on the door to the Defence classroom. At Remus's acknowledgment, Harry pushed the door open and jumped inside.

Remus smiled at him fondly, amused by and a little proud of his ward's scholarly excitement. It reflected his own ambition. His smile became even broader as Harry reacted to a sudden bang, whirling and sending his hand for his wand in the same movement. The bang had come from a travelling chest in the corner of the room, and Harry eyed it warily.

"Don't worry, it's just another Boggart. If you show any aptitude for the Charm, then we'll try you out against it tonight. Now," Remus stood up, and began pacing, falling into lecture mode, "The Patronus Charm is essentially a projection of your own spirit. It manifests the hope and the happiness inside you, fending off the insidious darkness of the Dementor. That might sound a little contradictory, given that Dementors feed on hope and happiness, but it's the gorging principle. You might love eating ice-cream, but if you eat too much of it you get sick. The Patronus Charm overloads the Dementor on happiness, forcing it to retreat to recover.

"There are two forms of Patronus, the non-corporeal and the corporeal. Non-corporeal is relatively easy to achieve; you're powerful enough even now that you should be able to manage that. The corporeal form is far more difficult to cast, especially for any length of time. If you do manage it, the Patronus will take the form of something close to your heart. It's generally an animal representation of something – for instance, your mother's Patronus was a doe, because of James's Animagus form – but occasionally it can be something else; a person, an actual shield, anything really."

Remus tailed off. Harry was no longer paying attention, but was just sitting there, looking as if he was considering something that had cheered him up.

"Harry?"

Harry looked up, and shook his head as if clearing it. "Sorry Moony. I just… I didn't know that. About my mum I mean."

"Oh. Yes, of course. Yes, she was able to conjure quite a powerful Patronus. She saved my life with it once."

Harry grinned, a curiously child-like expression. He always enjoyed hearing about his parents. The two of them sat in easy silence for a moment, before Remus continued with his lesson.

"In order to cast the spell, you need to concentrate hard on your chosen memory – do you have one ready? Good – before you even utter the incantation. Ready?" Harry screwed his eyes up in fervent thought, eliciting a smirk from Remus. "Right, now the incantation is _Expecto Patronum_."

Harry began to mutter it softly under his breath, over and over again, before drawing his wand. He held it out in front of him, and Remus gave him an encouraging nod. Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke the spell.

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

The papers on Remus's desk began to rustle, disturbed by Harry's magic. Remus could feel a tiny tendril of it sweeping the room, flickering from the tip of the holly wand. The wind began to pick up as the look of concentration on Harry's face deepened, and he pushed more magic into the spell. A few sparks of shimmering white light flew from his wand, but nothing more. After a few moments, Harry dropped his arm to his side, relaxing with a sigh, and the wind died away. He looked disappointed.

"Nothing happened. I thought it would be easier than that…"

"I told you it was a tricky spell Harry. The fact that you managed to produce anything at all is cause for celebration. What memory were you using if you don't mind me asking?"

"My eighth birthday. That clown at the party."

Remus folded his arms in mild annoyance. "That's excitement, not happiness Harry. You'll need something far stronger than that if you're going to cast the spell properly. Maybe we should wait until you've got a more powerful memory to use-"

Something flashed in Harry's eyes – a gleam of realisation. "No, I know which memory I want to use."

"Are you sure?" Remus asked him sceptically. Harry just nodded, gripping his wand. This time, when he cast the spell, his voice was much more confident.

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

Harry had definitely chosen a better memory this time, Remus admitted to himself. His magic flickered around the room much more strongly now; the papers on the desk were actually lifted into the air, dancing briefly before being dropped, and the lamp light began to flicker. A cloud of white mist burst from Harry's wand, glowing strongly in the wavering light, and hung in the air in front of them.

"Harry."

Remus spoke softly, not wanting to break his ward's concentration, and Harry opened his eyes carefully. He gasped in awe at the cloud in front of him, and reached out to touch it. The mist folded around his finger-tips, accommodating him.

"It's warm."

Remus just watched as Harry's smile grew wider and wider until he could no longer keep the spell going. The mist died away, and a look of disappointment flew across Harry's face.

"That was excellent Harry. Truly excellent. Which memory did you use?"

Harry looked him in the eye. "Ginny. In the Chamber, when she woke up, and I realised that she wasn't going to die."

Remus smiled. "A powerful memory. Do you feel up to tackling a Boggart now, or should we leave it?"

Harry's only answer was to turn to the trunk, his stance determined. Remus shrugged, and flicked his wand. The lock sprung open, and the lid flew back. There was a brief pause, and then a Dementor burst from inside. Even though it was not a true Dementor, it still had an influence over Remus; he could hear Greyback snarling dimly, as if it was only an echo, and he gritted his teeth against the sound. The candles flickered and died under the Boggart-Dementor's icy aura, but Harry seemed not to be able to cast the spell. He was standing there, a look of horror on his face. Just as Remus was about to intervene, Harry's face set, and he raised his wand.

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

Once more, Harry's magic flickered round the room, roused by the demands placed on it by the spell. This attempt was weaker though; the cloud was smaller and dimmer. The Boggart-Dementor made no move to go past the insignificant barrier, but it didn't seem to affect it in any serious fashion at all. Remus could see that Harry was now straining to keep the magic going, and he stepped forward. The Boggart shifted to the full moon, and Remus dispelled it easily. He turned back to Harry, who was standing there with a look of crushed disappointment.

"Don't worry about it Harry, you've done an amazing job tonight-"

"I heard my dad." Harry broke in. Remus stood there in shocked silence.

"You – you heard James?"

"Yes. He tried to fight, tried to duel him. He didn't even try and defend himself."

Remus pulled Harry into a hug, clutching him tightly, unable to say anything. He could feel Harry crying gently against him, and he stroked the back of his head as they stood there. Eventually Harry calmed down enough to speak.

"What's going to happen Remus? Do you think that he'll come back?"

Remus looked into Harry's eyes – and couldn't speak the truth. He smiled.

"Everything's going to be fine. I promise."

Harry didn't look convinced.

* * *

A/N: Man, this was a struggle. That Harry/Ginny scene took about two weeks to write and finetune before I was even close to happy with it. Conversely, everything from the second break took about six hours. Oh well. This also probably marks the end of weekly updates, as I've run out of finished chapters. I've started chapter 11, but I don't know when it'll be finished. Sorry about that.  
Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	13. Christmas

**Chapter 11: Christmas**

Harry stretched out in front of the fire, warming his freezing feet. It was good to be home. No work, no Snape – no Dementors patrolling the grounds; he'd never appreciated Privet Drive quite as much. Certainly, the immensely satisfying snowball fight he had had with Dudley (which he had definitely won, despite his cousins protests) would not have been possible with the Dementors around.

Harry allowed himself a brief moment of pity for the Weasleys, who were all staying at Hogwarts for the holidays. It would be particularly bad for them once the cabin fever began to afflict Fred and George; with an absence of other students, Ron and Ginny would their sole targets. Harry smirked a Draco-like smirk. He almost wished he would be there to see the results. They were sure to be hilarious.

The Dursleys had welcomed him home in style, apparently feeling guilty over not having been able to visit him during his recovery from Rosier's attack. He'd tried to trick information about potential Christmas presents from them in their emotional state, but his uncle was too good a business-man to be caught out by such an obvious ploy. However, the grin that had been on his aunt's face had suggested that he wouldn't be disappointed.

Harry smiled as Dudley wandered in, a mug of hot chocolate in his hand and a slightly sour expression on his face. He was rubbing his shoulder absently, as if in mild pain. He parked himself on a chair in front of the television, pointedly ignoring his cousin. Harry chuckled quietly, and Dudley glowered at him.

"That stone really hurt you know."

"Oh, I'm sorry Dud, but I didn't know it was there! Besides, it can't have hurt that badly, you got me back fair and square didn't you?"

"Hah!" Dudley cried out in delight. "So you admit it, I did win! Thank you very much Harry, very gracious of you."

"Well, that isn't quite what I said. You got me back, but only by pushing me over and rubbing my face in the snow. That's not really in the spirit of a snowball fight is it? Since I threw the last snowball, it follows that I'm the winner. Obviously." Harry replied, doing his best to sound like a pompous academic. He thought he sounded rather like a cross between Professors Binns and Trelawney – which was a scary thought in itself.

Dudley responded to Harry's argument with typical restraint. "What? That's ridiculous! Everyone knows that so long as snow is involved somewhere along the line, then it counts. You're just a sore loser."

"How come you're the one sulking then?"

Dudley stuttered, clearly trying to come up with a good counter-argument to this not entirely unfair query. In the end though, he settled for a dignified silence, turning the television on and sipping his drink. Harry threw his arms up in celebration, and Dudley sighed good-naturedly.

They sat there quietly for a while, watching a deeply unfunny sitcom, occasionally breaking the silence to pass comment on the quality of the show. After a while, Harry noticed that Dudley was giving him sidelong glances, as if he wanted to ask something but didn't know how to. Eventually, his cousin spoke up.

"Harry… What – what precisely happened at Halloween?"

Harry grimaced, but told his cousin an edited version of the events. Even with some of the more gruesome aspects taken out, Dudley still looked rather unsettled by the account.

"This Rosier guy sounds nasty."

Harry shivered. "He is. Believe me." He hadn't gone into the specifics regarding his injuries, so Dudley still didn't know how badly he'd been injured, but with someone as crazy as Evan Rosier details weren't needed. There was an odd look on Dudley's face.

"Could he attack you here?"

"No. The only wizards who can get into the house are people who've been keyed into the wards. And that's even assuming that he could find us; it's not exactly public knowledge that I live here. Don't be scared; we'll be fine."

Dudley glowered at him again. "I'm not scared you idiot! Well, all right, the thought of him terrifies me, but I'm more worried about you! You're the one he wants to kill, not us."

Harry didn't quite know what to say to that, but his cousin seemed to understand how he felt. He decided not to tell Dudley that if Rosier ever did find the Dursleys, then he would likely kill them all just for the fun of it.

* * *

"Wake up Harry! It's Christmas! _Presents!_"

Harry groaned and rolled over, pulling his pillow over his head to drown out the sound of Dudley thundering down the stairs. He opened one eye blearily, and muttered something foul under his breath when he realised that it was only six thirty. What had he done to be cursed with such an energetic cousin? By quarter to seven, he had just about made it out of bed, although he was far from awake. He staggered downstairs, his legs still half-asleep and his hair even more wildly askew than normal. He was gratified to see that his uncle and aunt seemed no more awake than he did himself, although Dudley was practically bouncing off the walls.

Aunt Petunia smiled at him, and wished him a Merry Christmas with a hug and a kiss, before passing him some breakfast. Once fortified with bacon and sausages, Harry turned his eye to the pile of presents underneath the tree. Although the Dursley's had never bothered with the Father Christmas story – reasoning that there wasn't much point when one of the children in the house could do magic – they still insisted on keeping a few of the Christmas traditions, and Harry had always loved the elaborately decorated tree. This year, Remus had supplied some magical decorations, so the tree looked even more impressive. As for the presents… there were two large boxes to the right of the tree. Dudley had already fallen on one, so Harry turned his attention to the other, a thin package about half his height. It was quite heavy, and after a moments thought, Harry thought he knew what it must be. A new broomstick surely? His Nimbus had been smashed just before Halloween, and he had been flying a school-broom ever since, a not entirely pleasing experience. They were slow and almost falling apart.

He tore into the wrapping paper eagerly, and almost dropped the box in shock when he saw the label on the packing. While Dudley crowed over the racing bike he had been given, Harry struggled to take in the fact that he was holding a Firebolt in his hands. It was an international standard broom, owned only by professionals and the very rich. He turned to his aunt and uncle, speechless. Aunt Petunia grinned.

"It's from all of us; Remus, Peter, Sirius…"

"I – wow, I – thank you!"

Vernon chuckled. "Put it to good use lad; you'd better win that cup this year!"

Harry's face lit up. "Oh, we will. You can be sure of that."

* * *

It was in the run up to New Year that Harry had his second pleasant surprise of the holiday. He was sitting in the front room working his way through a well-thumbed copy of _Dune_ while Dudley and Encle Vernon watched a boxing match. His cousin had apparently picked up an interest in the sport after seeing some older students at Smeltings. Of course, when the uniform included a large stick, for no obvious purpose other than to hit people, it was entirely possible that Dudley's interest in boxing was more to do with self-preservation than sporting enjoyment of the 'noble art'.

He was torn away from the sand-worms by the sound of a car backfiring outside the house. Looking over his shoulder in mild curiosity, he was both surprised and delighted to see Sirius and Peter trudging through the snow, looking rather weary. Harry jumped up to let them in, beaming at them. Peter clapped him on the shoulder, but his godfather merely nodded at him. However, the way he dropped himself into a chair and promptly fell asleep suggested that the snub was nothing personal. Vernon took one look at Peter and poured him a glass of whiskey, which he accepted gratefully. Harry looked at him anxiously as his guardian drained the drink in a single gulp.

"Are you guys alright Peter? We weren't expecting you back until – well, we weren't expecting you back anytime soon anyway. What happened?"

"Nothing." Peter said with a grimace. "We didn't find anything at all. Went through all the caves we could find – certainly found a few snakes – but nothing. And traipsing around Albania is not the best way to spend winter, let me tell you. Then we realised that we'd missed Christmas, and just thought 'Sod it'. Can't believe we missed out on Petunia's turkey."

"Yeah, mum did a brilliant job this year – never been better!" Dudley trailed off as Peter glared at him, but the Marauder just sighed ruefully.

"Sounds about typical of our luck since Halloween really." He turned his gaze to Harry. "Don't suppose you've had any more useful visions we haven't been told about?"

Harry shook his head. "Nope. Not that I'm all that disappointed mind you."

Peter inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Granted. It's not as if we want you getting prime time viewing through the Dark Lord's skull, but if you do have any more, try and pay attention to what you see ok? If we can catch him without a body…"

He didn't need to finish. They all knew what would happen if Rosier or Dearborn were actually able to restore Voldemort somehow. None of them wanted it to happen. Vernon stood up abruptly.

"Well, that's enough misery eh? How about I see if there's enough left over turkey for a few sandwiches, what do you say to that Peter?"

Peter's grin was answer enough, and Vernon wandered out to the kitchen. Peter stretched and turned to look at Sirius, who was beginning to drool in his sleep. He winked at Harry, and drew his wand, pointing it at Sirius.

"_Rictumsempra!_"

Sirius jerked awake with a yell, and fell out of the chair, rolling on the floor in helpless giggles. Harry and Dudley began to roar with laughter, the painful topic of Voldemort forgotten, and Peter smirked, lifting the spell. Sirius glared at him angrily.

"Bastard. I was having a wonderful dream…"

"Language Padfoot. There are children present after all." Peter rebuked him with a raised eyebrow. Sirius looked round and coughed in embarrassment at the sight of Harry and Dudley's amused countenances.

"Yes. Well. You – you're setting them a very bad example Wormtail, taking advantage of me like that. Positively reprehensible – oh, is that a turkey sandwich?"

Vernon passed the plates over, and the two Marauders set to eating ravenously. In between bites, Sirius attempted conversation with Harry, who was somewhat distracted by the thought of what Hermione would say if she could see his godfathers manners. Nothing polite he was sure.

"So, what did you think of the broom pup?" Sirius asked him with a grin. Harry's eyes lit up, and he beamed with pleasure.

"It's beautiful! I can't wait to fly it!"

Sirius chuckled and ruffled his godsons hair. "Glad to hear it, but be careful; that things damned fast you know."

"I can handle it." Harry shrugged dismissively.

The conversation continued in similar vein for a few hours, before Sirius and Peter decided to head to their respective homes to catch up on sleep. On his way out of the front door, Peter turned to Harry.

"How's your training coming along?"

Harry frowned. "Not too bad; I'm getting better, but that didn't stop Rosier wiping the floor with me did it? And I think Remus is going to be concentrating on the Patronus charm for a bit now, when he can."

"What do you mean, 'when he can'?"

"Well, he does have to teach other people you know. He can't just focus on me. And given that I pass out every time I go near a Dementor…"

Peter nodded. "Yeah, fair point I guess. I'll see if I can come up and give you a few lessons ok? What about a session before you go back?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, that'd be great. When?"

"Sometime after New Year probably. I'll let you know. Take care!"

* * *

Harry stood stock still, eying Peter carefully. His guardian bowed very slightly, and Harry returned it. Then Peter was moving, flicking his wand towards Harry almost supernaturally fast, projecting a shockwave that hit Harry before he could shield himself, rattling his teeth in his jaw. With a grimace, Harry cast a dispelling charm before returning fire, anticipating Peter's dive to the right, and managing to clip him in the leg with an Impediment jinx. While Peter fought off the spell, Harry cast once more, knocking Peter backwards with a decent striking charm. Peter grunted in effort and irritation, and flicked Harry up into the air with a silent spell. Another flick, and Harry was spinning around the room at high-speed, completely disoriented.

Fighting the urge to vomit, he stuck his wand out, and cried out "_Coruscus!_" He dimly heard Peter swear as sparkling light illuminated the room, briefly blinding him and breaking his concentration. As a result, Harry spun out of control, bouncing off the wall and falling to the floor, his head spinning. His glasses were cracked, and he couldn't see anything clearly, but he did his best to focus on the hazy blur in front of him. He cast once more, "_Reducto!_" The blur dived to the side, suggesting he had been at least fairly accurate. Sweeping his hair out of his eyes, and feeling the urge to win, Harry did something stupid.

"_Cremo!"_

He didn't know what had prompted him to do it; the idea had just popped up, unbidden, in the back of his mind. A wall of fire sprang from his wand, roaring around the room, and he suddenly realised that he had no idea how to control it. He heard Peter shout, and the sizzle of water on flames, and the room filled with smoke. It cleared to reveal a dazed looking Peter standing in a circle of scorched floorboards, looking at Harry incredulously.

They both had the same idea. Two cries of _"Expelliarmus!"_, and twin bolts of light shot past each other, hitting their targets square in the chest. Both Peter and Harry's wands flew into the air, clattering to the floor a couple of feet away. They looked at each other.

"Draw?" Harry asked breathlessly.

"Draw." Peter nodded, still coughing from the smoke. They retrieved their wands and sat down, slugging back water thirstily. Peter studied Harry appraisingly.

"Pretty good Harry. Still plenty of room for improvement, but you can definitely hold your own, and you've got the basics down very well indeed. I think we need to work on control drastically though; you would have killed yourself with that burning curse."

"It did seem wilder than when Rosier did it." Harry admitted. Peter nodded.

"Yes, because he would have been controlling it, not just letting his power out."

Harry nodded, apparently distracted by something. Peter waited in silence. After a moment Harry spoke. "Sorry; I was just thinking about something… When I was around Rosier, I was terrified, I could barely even remember spells. And I've never been like that before, not even against the basilisk. And just now all I could feel was adrenaline. Why do you think that is?"

Peter sat back thoughtfully. "Hmm. There were always reports of people – good people, good duellists – just collapsing around the Death Eaters, unable to fight. Never worked out why though. The most popular theory was something inscribed on their masks in runes to inspire terror – or possibly in Parseltongue. He might have done some variation on that."

Harry pondered this with interest. "Then why didn't Dearborn – assuming it really was him in the Forest?"

Peter's eyes flashed, and Harry winced. "Sorry, I know you were friends."

He laughed bitterly. "Oh yes, we were really close." There was silence for a moment, and then Peter leapt to his feet, pacing in agitation as his words spewed forward. "What's even worse is that he was such an idealist – well, seemed to be. Always going on about standing up for what you believed in. And then he goes into hiding rather than face the consequences. I'd hate him regardless, but at least he'd be worthy of respect if he'd stuck around. There's nothing I hate more than a Death Eater who walked free Harry. At least Rosier's honest about what he is."

Harry nodded slowly. He thought he saw what Peter was getting at, but he wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of respecting the man who had betrayed his parents. Perhaps some of this was conveyed in his expression, as Peter cleared his throat and changed the subject back to duelling. Nevertheless, the rest of the morning was somewhat awkward, and Harry was relieved to get back to Privet Drive. He had forgotten how scary Peter could be sometimes.

* * *

A/N: Finally done! Hopefully the next few chapters shouldn't take as long. Apologies for the lack of plot development in the last couple of chapters, but rereading previous chapters I was beginning to feel that many of the characters seem to be lacking a personality, so I've been trying to rectify that a little.

Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	14. The Unicorn

A/N: Yes, I'm posting. Try not to faint… Sorry about the delay – hopefully the next chapter shouldn't take as long (he says, well aware that I said that last time as well).

**Chapter 12: The Unicorn**

The Lent term got off to a bang. The first two weeks had, for Harry at least, been focussed around the Quidditch match against Slytherin, and his first opportunity to fly his Firebolt competitively. Oliver Wood had practically fainted when Harry had unveiled it, and had actually cried when he saw how well Harry took to flying at such high speeds. And the look on Draco's face before the match had been priceless. A mere twenty minutes in, Harry had caught the Snitch, all but ensuring Gryffindor's place in the final, assuming there weren't any ridiculously high scores in other matches. The Slytherin team had been seething, and Draco had told him the next day that Marcus Flint was petitioning to get Harry on a different broom.

Harry's lessons were going well without ever being truly spectacular, although Remus continued to set the standard. Particularly entertaining had been the lesson when he had had them face off against a group of Red Caps. There were quite a few students who had been scared of the little goblin like creatures, not entirely irrationally, but Harry – and, somewhat to his surprise, Ron – had excelled at the task. Actually, Harry had been getting better marks in a few of his classes. His spells were slowly becoming more reliable, especially in Transfiguration, where he barely needed to think about the spell anymore, at least for weaker spells. More advanced Transfiguration still provided him with a challenge, but Professor McGonagall had told him that he was working at O.W.L. standard already. The work he had put in on conjuring the previous year was apparently paying dividends, and his progress was further evidence of an inherent aptitude for such magic.

His spells were gradually getting stronger as well. He was no powerhouse – barely in the top rank of students, let alone worthy of comparison to the staff, but his power was impressive for a third year. He had pondered this a few times, but no-one else had commented, so he left it alone for the most part.

Of course, none of that mattered at all in Potions, where Snape was still being as vile as he had been ever since Halloween. Harry had never thought that he would long for the Snape of their first year, but he was often to be found praying for Snape to contract some horrible disease that would prevent him from teaching. Once the twins found out about this, they seemed to have taken it upon themselves to botch their potions as foully as they could in the hope that Snape would fall ill, but he seemed to be immune to all the fumes they could create.

It was his Patronus lessons that most interested him. He could now manage to sustain an incorporeal Patronus for nearly two minutes against a Boggart-Dementor, which although likely not good enough to do much good in an encounter in the wild, would be more than adequate for defence around the castle, and was an impressive achievement in its own right. And the euphoric high he went through while casting the charm was a brilliant way to end the week, or cheer himself up after a Potions lesson. Remus had been surprised to find out that Harry was that sensitive, but could understand the feeling. If you spent a couple of hours forcing happiness to manifest itself physically then you were bound to come out of it feeling good.

* * *

Harry raced towards the ground, his hair billowing around him in the wind. It was a glorious day to fly, and he had been pleased to find that the Hufflepuff seeker, Cedric Diggory, was up to the challenge of the Firebolt, refusing to give up just because Harry was faster. It actually felt like a competition, which the match against Slytherin had most decidedly not. Still, he couldn't afford to relax; this was the final after all.

He swerved to avoid a bludger, casually scanning the pitch for any sign of the snitch. He would need to look for reflected sunlight than the snitch itself on this occasion, as the golden ball wouldn't really be obvious in the bright light. As he hovered, he saw Angelina smash the quaffle through the goal hoop, to much celebration from Lee Jordan. She did a quick victory lap while the quaffle was being retrieved, and Harry raised his hand in congratulations, reeling from the high speed high-five he received in return.

Harry grinned to himself as he realised that Diggory was beginning to have problems. More than any other player, the Seeker needed to keep their eyes on the ball at all times; distraction could mean losing the match completely. This was beginning to conflict with his duties as Captain, and Harry could see desperation beginning to set in on Cedric's face. Suddenly, he felt soft wings brush against his face, and the Snitch whizzed past him. It had zoomed away by the time he could react, moving towards Cedric, who had clearly seen it too. Harry zipped forward, praying that his superior speed would balance out the fact that Diggory was closer. The sudden grin on his opponent's lips suggested he thought otherwise.

It was a moot point though. Just when Harry thought they would collide, the Snitch swerved away, zipping towards the edge of the pitch. Harry rolled over to avoid Cedric, and they both paused, hovering in mid-air and glowering after the glowing golden ball. Cedric looked at him with a wry grin.

"Now that's just cheeky. I was _this_ close…"

Harry shrugged. "All part of the game really. I'm not complaining, it gives me another chance!"

"True. So, how does it handle? The Firebolt I mean. Looks like a smooth ride."

"Oh, it is. Fantastically fast as well. Apparently Flint tried to get it banned, claimed it was unfair."

Cedric laughed. "If his strategy was anything other than 'knock the other team out' I'd be sympathetic; he'll just have to learn to play better."

Harry nodded, eying the Snitch. It was hovering by the teacher's stand. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Cedric edging forward slowly, preparing to move off. He smirked.

"Want a head start?"

Cedric didn't reply, only whipped forward as fast as he could. Harry hung back for a couple of seconds, then went off himself. He overtook Cedric easily, but the Snitch moved again, wheeling around the stands as he followed it, weaving in and out of the boxes. He followed it closely, and was just about to grab it when the Forbidden Forest came into sight.

Something pulled inside him, so hard it felt as if he had been hit in the stomach by a bludger. He reeled, and had to clench his hands around the broom to stop himself falling off. He righted himself, gasping, the pain ebbing. It felt as if something was pulling at his magic, and he concentrated, focussing his mind as best he could. He could feel something… It was calling to him, pulling him towards the Forest… Was that someone standing there?

Cedric bashed into him as he flew after the Snitch, pulling him from his reverie. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and then pushed his broom forward. The Snitch was clearly feeling playful; it was bobbing and weaving so often that he couldn't fly at his top speed, equalising him with Cedric. They were flying neck and neck, trying to push each other out of the way, when Harry heard his name called in familiar tones. He looked up, and saw Fred and George heading towards them, knocking the bludgers between them. He frowned in confusion, before pulling away as their strategy became clear. For one fatal moment, Cedric looked at him, puzzled. Then the bludgers both hit him, one on the arm and the other in the stomach. He dropped like a stone for a few seconds, before pulling out of the dive, too late.

Harry had caught the Snitch.

A roar echoed round the stadium as Harry found himself buried under his team-mates. Wood was sobbing like a baby at their victory, and the twins were chanting his name. Harry grinned, but half-heartedly. His mind was still on the Forest, and the shape he had seen under the trees.

* * *

Harry lay in bed, thinking to himself. The adrenaline of the final chase for the Snitch had dulled the ache in his stomach, and it had not returned during the celebration party that he had been unable to escape from. But the sensation of being summoned remained, and he was finding it difficult to resist. His common sense had not entirely deserted him though, so he was still in bed, trying to ignore it.

Midnight. One o'clock. Two o'clock.

He was still awake. The call was only getting stronger.

By five past two, he was walking out of the portrait door, shrouded in his invisibility cloak, much to the confusion of the Fat Lady. By ten past, he was approaching the front doors, but halted as Mrs Norris prowled across the Entrance Hall, rubbing up against the hourglasses showing the house-points. Harry stood still, watching her carefully, waiting for her to move. Unfortunately, when she did move, it was turning her head towards Harry, sniffing. He froze, and then cautiously raised his arm, sniffing quietly. He winced, and cursed himself for not showering after the match. The hateful cat began to stalk towards him, her tail waving. He racked his brains, and then grinned. He raised his wand, aiming it at a corridor off to the right, and muttered under his breath. There was a soft pop, barely audible, followed by high-pitched squeaking. Mrs Norris flattened her ears, then bounded off towards the conjured mouse. Harry ran towards the doors, and eased them open.

It was cold outside, and he cast a warming charm on himself as he sprinted down the hill towards Hagrid's hut. He slowed as he neared the edge of the forest, remembering that the Dementors might be patrolling. He didn't feel any change in temperature though, and there was no screaming inside his head. He took his first, cautious steps inside the forest, for the first time since he had been attacked there during his first year.

Once more, the trees seemed to bend around him, twisted and gnarled. He shivered to himself. He wasn't sure if it was just residual fear from his last trip or just the actual nature of the forest, but it spooked him. The summons in his head was getting louder, pounding now, like drums, and he could feel magic tingling around his fingertips, itching to burst out. He quickened his pace. After a while, he realised that he was retracing the steps he had taken when Hagrid had shown the herd of unicorns.

This time, he noticed when he left the path. Not that he was particularly watching where he was going, there was just a noticeable change in the feel of the Forest. It was… lighter. Purer. He marched through the trees, his steps firm, following the calling in his head. He retraced his steps of two years ago, heading over the rise to where he had seen the unicorns.

He was somehow unsurprised to see one standing there, glowing pale in the darkness. It might even have been the one that had 'spoken' to him previously. He stood there, watching it, and it stood watching him right back.

A hush spread across the forest, or so it seemed to Harry at least. All the noises of wildlife, the wind in the trees, everything went silent. The drum beat in his head reached a crescendo, before suddenly falling still.

The unicorn bowed its head, before turning and walking further into the forest. After a moments hesitation, Harry followed. Walking through the trees with the unicorn was a noticeably more pleasant experience than when he had been alone. Everything seemed brighter, more welcoming.

This feeling was dispelled by the sight that greeted him barely a hundred yards from the clearing.

A dead unicorn foal, silvery blood flowing from its body, lay underneath a rotting tree. The ground around it was decaying, withered grass and dead flowers scattered around it. Harry sank to his knees next to it, reaching out to stroke its tattered flank. The lack of sensation was heartbreaking; just standing next to the one who had led him there had filled him with warmth and pleasure. The dead unicorn may as well not have been there. A sticky sensation on his fingertips gave him pause, and he drew his fingers back, curious. He nearly vomited when he realised that they were coated in the silver blood. He frantically wiped his fingers on the dead grass, trying to wipe away the stain, stumbling backwards from the ragged corpse.

He halted when he felt the horn of the other unicorn jabbing into his back. He turned swiftly, vaguely aware of the sound of his robes ripping, but he ignored it. Still shocked from the horrific sight, he welcomed the warmth and light that washed over him, seeking shelter in the pleasant sensation. He gasped as magic seeped out of him, rustling the leaves above him and sending twigs and dead branches whirling.

"What happened here?"

Just as it had two years ago, a voice echoed in his head, an altogether more disturbing sensation after his dreams than previously. _One steeped in Darkness has come here Mighty One. He seeks revenge, blood, and death. He slaughtered the foal for no reason. He did not even take the blood, powerful though it is… should you be willing to endure a cursed life._

"If it's who I think it is, he probably wouldn't much care about that. He'd just find it funny." Harry muttered in response. There weren't many other candidates for the crime than Evan Rosier after all. "But why call me? I can't do anything, he kicked my arse the last time we met. Why didn't you send for Dumbledore or someone?"

_We did not call Mighty One. That was a part of you, feeling the foal's death and wishing to attend. Have you forgotten the gift you were given?_

"Gift? You – one of you anyway – did something to whatever it is binding my magic, but what's that got to do with anything?"

_A gift of purity, countering and changing some of the essence of the alien darkness inside you. A gift of magic, Mighty One. You have the merest drop of the magic of a unicorn inside you, and that is deep magic. The earth cries out at the slaughter of the innocents Mighty One, and in this case your very blood echoes it, because we are forever bound._

"I… I didn't realise. Thank you, that's… Thank you." Harry stammered. He'd picked up enough over the years to know that it was a priceless gift; he hadn't even known such a thing was possible. The unicorn stared at him, its gaze penetrating.

_And yet, even with this gift, you still fear what you might become. Do not fear the cold Mighty One; save that for the coming Darkness._

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

_Because it is right. _The unicorn reared, whinnying, and Harry shivered as its breath warmed his face. Light began to shine from it, dimly at first, then ever brighter. _Do not forget us again Mighty One, and be vigilant. We will meet again, at the close._

The light flared, so brightly Harry had to shield his eyes. By the time he could see again, the unicorn had vanished, leaving him alone with the corpse of the foal. After a moment's hesitation, he ran, making the most of the residual warmth the unicorn had left him with. He needed to get back if Rosier really was around.

* * *

Several hours later, Harry found himself at breakfast, having difficulty coping with the combination of exhaustion and the remnants of his nausea. He had slept for barely two hours before Ron and Neville had woken him up. Now he was just sitting there while his friends talked around him, playing with his food.

"You alright Harry?"

He looked up to find Neville looking at him, a worried expression on his face. He gave a tired smile.

"Yeah. Just didn't sleep well last night. Well, barely slept at all to be honest. Still too wound up, you know."

"Yeah, it was a hell of a match." Neville grinned at him. "Don't blame you for being fired up."

"All you need is a decent plate of food mate. Toast isn't going to do anything for you!" As he spoke, Ron ladled bacon and sausages onto Harry's plate, topping it off with eggs. Harry stared at it, and all of a sudden, a vivid vision of the corpse of the unicorn foal flashed before his eyes. He pushed his plate away with a grimace. He looked sideways, out of the corner of his eye, examining the staff table, and was disconcerted to see that Dumbledore was looking right at him. Harry quickly looked away, turning back to his friends. He made empty conversation, barely concentrating, but after a few minutes was distracted by Dumbledore walking out of the hall. Harry didn't look up, but he could still feel Dumbledore's eyes on him. He pushed his food around for another minute or so, then made his excuses.

He hurried out of the hall, nearly running, but Dumbledore was evidently fairly spry for his age. He was nowhere to be seen. Harry made his way to the stairs, intending to head to the Headmaster's office, but then the familiar voice rang out.

"Now, why don't we go and have a little chat about whatever's bothering you Harry?" Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling, but he did not look particularly kindly or jovial.

"What makes you think something is sir?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Harry, do you really think that I don't find out when someone goes into the Forest, particularly after curfew? The Weasley twins would have died before the end of their first term here were there not such precautions in place. And I think it safe to assume that you weren't merely taking an early morning constitutional."

Harry hesitated, then nodded. Dumbledore smiled, and gestured for Harry to follow him. A short while later, they were sitting in his office while Harry related the events of the previous day. Once he had finished, Dumbledore sat back with a sigh, rubbing his eyes.

"It does indeed seem likely that Rosier has made his way here – although I suppose it could be Caradoc. It was only a matter of time realistically, especially after Halloween. To be honest Harry, I'm surprised that it has taken this long. But I cannot believe anyone would be so evil as to kill a unicorn. Rosier was always overshadowed by darkness, but this is truly awful."

"You haven't seen it; it looked like it had been torn apart, like someone had used… _Sectumsempra_ on it or something."

Dumbledore's eyes flickered, and Harry frowned. _Sectumsempra… _where had he heard that spell? It certainly wasn't one he had learnt from the Marauders, and he couldn't remember ever having read about it…

"A dangerous spell indeed Harry, and one I hope you don't use."

"No sir… I don't even know where I heard it. I could swear that I've never heard of it before." He went over the meaning in his head. "Doesn't sound like one I'd want to use either."

"Quite. But one Rosier would be quite happy to use. Are you sure you don't know where you could have heard it?"

"Yes sir… I must have read it somewhere I guess, but I've no idea where."

Dumbledore shrugged, his eyes twinkling again. "Magic is a funny business Harry."

Harry said nothing, confused and tired out from his explanation. Dumbledore stood up, striding to a cabinet in the corner, containing a number of weird and wonderful items, none of which Harry recognised. The headmaster twirled his wand over them, tapping them occasionally, muttering under his breath. Some of them began to give off steam, some whistled, some rattled and some started to shine. Harry looked on in curiosity, but couldn't work out quite what Dumbledore was doing. After a few minutes, Dumbledore turned back to him, looking tired.

"My apologies Harry. I was just performing some alterations to the wards of the castle. Nothing too complex – and sadly nothing perfect; there are very few wards which are entirely impregnable, and those few which are are largely unsuitable for somewhere like Hogwarts. Still, we should all be at least a little safer in our beds, and I shall alert the Dementors." A look of distaste flickered across his face at the mention of the Dementors, but it passed swiftly. Harry could sympathise. Dumbledore took his seat once more, steepling his fingers in front of his face, looking at Harry carefully.

"Is there anything else Harry? You do seem a little out of sorts, although I concede that you have not had the most relaxing day thus far."

Harry began to shake his head, but stopped partway through, and nodded.

"I just haven't quite come to terms with the fact that I've got a little bit of unicorn magic inside me. What does it actually mean? I didn't know that something like that could happen."

"With anyone else, it probably wouldn't have. Remember Harry, you do have a unique magical core at present; if it weren't for the magic wound around it in addition to your own, it may well not have been possible for the gift to have stayed with you. As for what it means, well, it could mean anything. You may have difficulty with darker spells – which given your circumstances may be a problem in future – or you may have more of an aptitude for healing magic and such like. Or it may not affect you at all unless you happen to be around a unicorn. Certainly, your magic feels little different to when you were a baby, with the obvious exception of strength."

Harry shifted very slightly in his seat at the mention of his strength, but small though his movements were, Dumbledore apparently picked up on them.

"Harry?"

"The unicorn called me Mighty One. Feels a little uncomfortable, and to be honest, I don't feel that mighty. I can't even claim to be the most powerful student, and no-one else gets called mighty. I guess I just don't feel like I deserve it."

"Modesty is a fine quality Harry, but your opinion of yourself might be very different were you able to feel your own magic."

"I can! Well, sometimes. Well, when I cast a Patronus at least. But I'm still not much more powerful than older students."

"Speaking as someone who has seen how powerful you truly are, how powerful you will be once you've worked past the blockage on your core, I can assure you Harry, you are fully deserving of the title."

Harry flushed. It was one thing to be told you were a 'Mighty One' by some random unicorn, but to be told by the most powerful wizard in the world was quite another. Dumbledore smiled at him gently.

"Go and get some rest Harry, you look like you're going to fall asleep on the spot."

Harry nodded, and stood up to leave. As he reached the door, Dumbledore called his name. He turned back, puzzled. The headmaster was smiling.

"That was an excellent catch yesterday. Congratulations."

* * *

Harry's friends had not taken the news well. They were uniformly furious with him for going into the Forest alone, given the numerous extra dangers in addition to the traditional perils inside it. That said, Harry was sure that he had seen Ron sigh with relief at having avoided a trip to the forest. Other than this though, the event went pretty much unnoticed. Dumbledore had told Remus – the werewolf had expressed his displeasure with his ward's recklessness after their next lesson together – and had presumably informed the staff of the new arrangements, but there was no school-wide announcement. The only mention of it over the next two weeks had been Hagrid informing Harry privately that he had buried the unicorn, to prevent further desecration of the body, something for which a small part of Harry had been intensely grateful. The little drop of magic he had been gifted presumably.

He had tried to sense it when practicing the Patronus charm, but had been far from successful. All he had achieved was to take a step back with the charm; whenever he let his attention drift to his magic, he could barely produce even an incorporeal Patronus. This did not make him happy. However, it was countered by his rapid progress with the charm. When he did concentrate, it was getting stronger than ever.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

White mist exploded from the tip of his wand, flooding the air in front of him. The Boggart-Dementor reached out, trying to rip through it, but recoiled as if in pain. He could still hear his mother's screams, but only faintly. Far louder was the rush of air from his magic swirling around him. He sometimes entertained the thought that his magic could think, that it enjoyed being put to such use – he knew the idea was ridiculous, but it made him smile. He dragged his attention back to the matter at hand as the cloud began to disperse, and the Boggart-Dementor rushed forward again. He pushed his magic as hard as he could, and the cloud came back together… and then changed, just for a moment. Harry nearly dropped his wand in shock, and Remus stepped forward, banishing the Boggart back to the trunk. He stared at his ward, delighted.

"Did you see that Harry? That was definitely a leg there for a moment!"

Harry nodded, dazed. "There was a tail too. Well, I think there was, it looked like one anyway." He shook himself, limbering himself up. "I want to try again."

"Are you sure? You've been going for nearly an hour already."

Harry said nothing. Remus shrugged, and unlocked the trunk with a flick of his wand. The lights dimmed as the Boggart-Dementor rose out again.

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

Mist shot out again, but instead of spreading into a cloud, it began to take shape. Harry studied as carefully as he could without losing concentration; it had four long legs, and a powerful body. Its tail flicked as it reared at the Boggart-Dementor, still half-formed. The Boggart slithered back, and the partial shape began to pace in front of it, its tail swishing. Harry gritted his teeth, and with a grunt, pushed at his magic once again. The Patronus shimmered, and lunged forward, the vague, smoky areas taking form as it slammed into the Boggart-Dementor. It was pushed back towards the trunk by the force of the Patronus, weakly trying to ward it off with its frail, withered arms, but its struggles were in vain. When it was obvious that the Boggart-Dementor was well and truly defeated, Remus stepped forwards and banished it again. He turned to Harry, laughing with delight, and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

"Harry, that is truly incredible! That's… That's a full Patronus! At thirteen!"

While Remus rambled, Harry just gazed in pride at the shimmering unicorn in front of him. It was huge, bigger than any of the ones he had seen in person, and he could feel the power in it resonating around him. He grinned, finally tuning into Remus's stream of congratulations.

"I guess that little drop of magic is good for other stuff than just being around them then."

To his surprise, Remus shrugged. "I'm sure that is a part of it Harry, but unicorns are very symbolic. They're associated with healing, birth – and rebirth -, life in general really. You can't get much lighter than a unicorn, maybe a phoenix… Actually, it makes sense." At Harry's quizzical expression, he elaborated. "Well, you've shown great skill in Transfiguration and Conjuring – the most creative branches of wand magic. It makes sense that the representation of your spirit would be something so closely linked with life; that is pretty much the best example of creation after all."

Harry nodded slowly. Put like that, it was much better than some external magic affecting his own. He realised that this was something he could genuinely be proud of. A huge, delighted smile spread slowly over his lips. Standing there, with the proof of his ability in front of him, and the feel of his magic flooding him, he felt fantastic. He felt as if he could handle anything that was thrown at him.

_So, Rosier's hiding out in the woods?_ Harry though to himself. _I can handle it._

_Bring it on. _

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	15. Myriad Voices

A/N: Well, this one just flew off the keyboard. Hope you all like it!

**Chapter 13: Myriad Voices**

Harry woke up, and groaned. He was in Privet Drive, in his bed. Not that there was anything wrong with that in and of itself, but there were still three weeks left of term. When he had fallen asleep – late, after staying up to finish an evilly hard potions essay – he had been in his bed at Hogwarts, snug and warm. He climbed out of his bed wearily, and noted with a faint sense of resignation that the floor under his feet was cold. Icy cold in fact.

It was the first time he had dreamt this since before Halloween. He had thought, after his conversation with Ginny, that he really had just been placing too much significance on a couple of weird dreams. Perhaps he had been wrong. Either way, it was irritating. He couldn't claim to be all that fond of whoever it was behind the ice-blocked door.

Still, now he was here, there wasn't a lot he could do about it. He walked down the stairs, and went to stand in front of the cupboard, studying the door. the ice was much thinner now, and there was a steady flow of drips coming off it. Harry thought it was still thick enough to support his weight though – or would be, were it somewhere he could stand on it. He folded his arms.

"You know, I've got a very distinct memory of telling you to get lost."

"Well, technically you just said no. Not an instruction, only a denial of the simple and evident fact that I've saved your ungrateful arse on a number of occasions. Besides, I can't 'get lost', as you so eloquently put it. Good to see you again by the way, how've you been? You look like you've recovered from that maniac's attack. I'm pleased."

"Thanks. Why can't you get lost?"

"Because I'm trapped in your mind you dolt. As it is, my existence depends on yours. You live, I live. You die, I die."

Harry nodded slowly. That was… annoying. He didn't much want the arrogant, disembodied voice running round his head for the rest of his life, whatever he claimed to have done. And he only seemed to have become more vocal since Harry had started 'helping' him.

"Charming."

Harry winced. He had forgotten the voice could read his mind. But why should he care?

"You know, you keep telling me that you've saved me, that I should trust you… but you won't even tell me your name!"

"I'm a disembodied voice in your head. Do you really think I have a name? If it bothers you so much, then make up your own name for me."

"How about Bertram?"

"Don't take the piss."

Harry smirked, and began to pace.

"So why are you back? I mean, I get that you can't go anywhere, but you've been quiet for months. What changed? Missing me?"

The voice muttered something. Harry glared at the ice, and immediately felt foolish for doing so.

"Hey, some of us can't read minds here you know. Speak up. It's only polite, you're in my head."

There was silence for a moment, and then:

"Because I couldn't. You told me not to, remember? You're a powerful wizard, even if you can't access all your magic. Not that I believe all that rubbish about 'Mighty One'. Seriously, could you be any more arrogant? Anyway… You put a fair whack behind that 'no', took me a while to recover."

Harry absorbed this information with interest. It was good to know that he had an element of control over this – person, thing, whatever. Even if, ironically, he wasn't entirely sure how he could control that power. It made him feel more secure about his position. However…

"That still doesn't tell me why I should trust you."

The voice chuckled. "Don't you listen?"

"I think we've already established that I don't quite trust you." Harry said, trying to sound condescending. He was actually quite enjoying the banter, still on a rush from his successful Patronus earlier in the evening.

"Not to me. You should, but in this case you've got external evidence. Learn to pay attention; it could save your life. Remember the unicorn? 'Do not fear the cold'? Useful advice I feel."

Harry froze. If that was right… When he'd been sure that the voice really did exist, he had thought it most likely to be evil, or at least unpleasant. After speaking to Ginny, he had been sure it didn't exist, so hadn't worried about the nature of it. Now that it looked like being real again, it looked like the voice had support from a unicorn of all things.

"That's right – would a unicorn support something dark?"

"No. No it wouldn't. But can you prove that it really was talking about you?"

Harry got the distinct impression that the voice, if it had possessed a body, would have been shrugging dismissively at his query.

"Not really. But it's cold here, and you're scared of me – well, you used to be anyway. Not now though… Now you're just cocky. Rude. Maybe I am having an effect on you after all. That's nice."

Harry glowered at the ice again.

"You need my help to get out of there, remember? Maybe I won't help you any more." He frowned; that was one of the more childish threats he'd come up with in his life. The voice didn't seem to care though.

"Do you remember your first year? What happened to you in the forest?"

Harry nodded, tentatively, unsure of which event the voice was referring to.

"Dumbledore asked you about some of the spells you used against whoever it was attacking you – spells you didn't know, that you didn't remember using. Right?"

Harry nodded again. He'd forgotten that conversation, having been far more concerned with other issues.

"That was me."

"That's impossible; you weren't even around until last summer!"

"Defending you against that guy is my first memory Harry. You passed out, and I was in control. You've never been that vulnerable since, so it hasn't happened again, and I'm not sure if it could. I'm getting more defined, but at the same time I'm getting further and further away from your magic, I don't know if I can affect it as well. I can still make you do spells on occasion, but whether I could take control of your body? Something happened to you that night, and I was the result."

Harry gasped, stunned. He had been attacked right after first encountering a unicorn – right after being gifted with its magic. "Is that what you are?"

"I don't know. It's possible. Then again, I seem to have quite a knowledge of dark arts curses, so maybe not. Did you like the one I slipped through the other day incidentally?"

Harry blinked, confused. The voice sighed.

"_Sectumsempra._ 'To wound throughout'. Nasty little curse, but effective. Might be a bit beyond you for the moment though."

"That was you?"

"Yep." The voice sounded unbearably smug.

"Don't _ever_ do that again!" Harry yelled. "You're going to make people think I'm some sort of freak!"

"Everybody's a freak to someone Harry. Most people just don't let it bother them so much."

"Merlin, why am I even listening to you?" Harry spat, angrily. There was a crack as more ice broke away, shattering on the floor.

"You don't have to. It's your mind Potter; if you can't get out, no-one can." The voice replied, somewhat sulkily.

"Fine!" Harry turned away, and strode to the front door, yanking it open…

And he was back in Hogwarts. There was something weighing down on his chest. He looked up, and had to stifle a scream. A snake was lying there. It was too dark for him to make out what kind, but it didn't seem angry, which was a good sign. He hissed softly.

"_How did you get here serpent?"_

The snake swayed, its tongue flickering. "_I do not know speaker. I merely woke up here – I have no memory other than here."_

Harry scowled. He was conjuring things in his sleep. Marvellous. He hadn't lost control like that in nearly a year. He reached to the bedside table and grabbed his wand, banishing the snake with a muttered incantation.

"Why do these things keep happening to me?"

_Maybe it's because you're a 'Mighty One'…_

"And now you're speaking to me when I'm awake? Fantastic."

Harry threw himself back down on the bed, and crushed the pillow over his ears, desperately trying to sleep.

* * *

"So you think that he's something to do with that unicorn?"

Harry nodded, beginning to feel a little frustrated. He had already been over this, but Ginny still seemed sceptical. She had been sitting on her own in front of the fire when he descended from the dorm that morning, looking a little spaced out. Taking advantage of the quiet, he had immediately filled her in on his dream from the previous evening. She was not being as supportive as he might have liked.

"Are you really sure about that? You've only got his word for it after all."

"Yes Ginny, I know that, but what else could it have meant. I told you all that unicorn told me the cold was ok – I mean, what else could it have been talking about? A new ice age?"

Ginny glared at him. "To be perfectly honest Harry, I find the whole idea of a unicorn talking to you rather… unusual, shall we say?"

Harry tensed up defensively, folding his arms and leaning back. "What's that supposed to mean? You think I'm crazy or something?"

"That isn't it at all Harry," Ginny said with a roll of her eyes, "It's just a little tricky to come to terms with."

"Dumbledore believes me." He muttered, averting his gaze to look at the fire.

"I know he does; I never said that I didn't. It's just… odd. And regardless of that, you don't have any real proof that he has anything to do with unicorns!"

Harry turned back to her, his eyes shining. "Ginny, I told you that I thought it was this voice that cast the Patronus both times I was attacked by the Dementors. He first came into existence after I got fed with unicorn magic. My Patronus is a unicorn."

"What?" Ginny was staring at him incredulously. Harry blinked, then remembered that he hadn't had a chance to tell them about his success with the spell.

"I finally managed a corporeal Patronus last night, it took the form of a unicorn."

"Harry, that's astonishing!"

"Thanks," Harry replied with a grin, "Moony was pretty pleased as well. I've never seen him so proud."

"You deserve it." Ginny told him, her lips curving in a small smile. Harry froze for a moment, strangely unsettled by this. The feeling passed in an instant, and he cleared his throat.

"Anyway… You've got to admit, there's some good evidence that he's telling the truth."

Ginny nodded. "True – but last term we were pretty convinced that you were hallucinating the whole thing. What's changed?"

"There's no other possible explanation for it this time; I haven't been unconscious for a week, I haven't been attacked by anyone – I was fine."

"I guess…" Ginny still looked a little sceptical, but talking it over with someone had cemented the idea in Harry's mind. The earlier appearance of the voice in the forest – and now that he thought about it, he did remember vaguely hearing voices before he passed out during the duel – coupled with the undeniable fact that, however irritating he might find his mental guest, he had never come to any harm because of it – indeed, quite the opposite apparently – was greatly changing his opinion of the matter.

Besides, having got everything off his chest, he was now beginning to turn his attention to other matters.

"So, why were you up so early? Is something wrong?"

"No, no I'm fine Harry. Just wasn't sleeping all that well, you know." Years of coping with Ron and the twins, and hiding her subsequent revenge from her mother, had made Ginny into a fantastic liar when she put her mind to it. Clearly, her mind was presently on other things.

"Don't believe you, sorry. Why weren't you sleeping well?"

Ginny looked at him as if she was going to get annoyed, but instead she sighed as if in defeat.

"I had a dream too – well, a nightmare really. About Zach."

"Oh." Harry shuffled awkwardly, unsure of what to do. The last time he had tried to comfort her about this, she had bitten his head off. He tentatively reached out, placing his arm around her shoulders, and she chuckled.

"I'm fine Harry, really. It's just – not the kind of thing I like to dream about. I think Luna blames me a bit."

"Luna?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Lovegood. His cousin, she lives near us. Let's just say that the weirdness runs in the family. But yeah, we used to be pretty good friends, but she's been a little off around me."

"I'm sorry." Harry told her. She shrugged.

"I've barely seen her since her mum died, it isn't like I'm having an argument with a close friend. It's just a little unpleasant."

"I could have a word with her if you like?"

"That's sweet, but you don't need to. But," she continued, seeing his expression, "I'll let you know if I change my mind, ok?"

Harry eyed her carefully, then nodded. "Fine. Let me know if you keep on dreaming about it?" She smiled and nodded.

"Good. Now, what about some breakfast?"

* * *

Harry stormed out of the potions lab, seething. He could hear Hermione and Neville calling after him to calm down, but he was damned if he'd listen to them. Snape had been treating him like dirt ever since he woke up after Halloween, for reasons unknown, culminating in deliberately destroying the potion he had brewed today. The self-satisfied smirk on his greasy face had infuriated Harry almost to the point of hexing him.

He pushed open the door of a classroom, throwing his bag to the floor. He was beginning to feel pent up, trapped, and his fingers were itching. The desks and chairs around him were beginning to shift ever so slightly in their places. He began to breathe slowly, trying to calm down. Then his eyes snapped open. He snapped his wand into his palm, and barked out an incantation. His spell hit a desk, and it exploded into tiny little splinters, scattering the room. He winced as a couple of them stung his hands and face. He eyed the destruction he had caused with a satisfied smile. He felt better already.

"Merlin Harry…"

Hermione and Neville were standing at the door, looking more than a little shocked at Harry's outburst. Harry ignored this in favour of conjuring a mirror and checking none of the splinters had cut him too badly.

"Harry, what curse were you using? That wasn't a simple blasting curse, it's far too powerful."

Harry let out a wry chuckle at the look of interest on Hermione's face; she was already reaching for quill and paper.

"It was _deprimo_. I found it in one of Peter's books. Same basic spell as _reducto_, just more powerful."

While Hermione frantically scribbled this information, and what looked like some notes of her own about the effect of the spell, Harry turned to Neville. His friend looked concerned.

"That's a dangerous spell to be flinging around a schoolroom Harry. Anyone could have walked in – hey, we _did _just walk in. What if you'd injured someone?"

"Maybe you should have knocked then?"

Neville frowned at this dismissal, but carried on regardless. "I'm serious Harry; it's dangerous – not to mention irresponsible. I know Snape's being a git, but you should complain, not just throw your magic around. You'll hurt someone sooner or later."

"I'm not that careless Nev."

"Yeah, sure, it isn't as if you've nearly set someone on fire or anything like that is it?"

Hermione looked up so fast Harry thought she might get whiplash. He had told his friends about his miscalculation with the _cremo_ spell, and it seemed to have gone down as an amusing story. Apparently he had been wrong.

"I'll – I'll just step outside…" Hermione muttered, watching the two of them nervously. Neville was looking uncomfortable, as if he'd said more than he intended to. As Hermione closed the door, the lock clicking, he spoke up.

"Sorry Harry, it's just… you hear stories about wizards who push themselves too hard. It generally ends badly, one way or another."

"And how am I going to 'end up badly'?"

"Look, I get that you need to learn how to duel, that you can't just sit back. I really do understand. But ever since Halloween, it's sometimes like you've decided to master it by the end of the year. We barely see you outside of classes anymore. I'm scared you're going to burn out, and some of the spells you've learnt – "

"What about them?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

"Some of them are a little intense. Don't you think? I mean, you're only thirteen – "

"What's the problem Granger, Potter too scared to face a nasty Slytherin?"

Neville broke off as the all too familiar voice of Theodore Nott echoed through the door. Harry sighed in irritation, and slung his bag over his shoulder. He pushed past Neville and opened the door. Some of the Slytherins they had been in Potions with had appeared, and were ringed round Hermione and Ron, who had apparently been outside all the time. Nott's face lit up at the sight of Harry.

"Ah, the man himself. What's the matter Potter, did nasty Professor Snape scare you?"

Harry chuckled. "Oh no, nothing like that Theo! No, I just spent a little too long looking at you, couldn't get to the toilet in time, so I just had to puke in there. You should investigate glamours, seriously."

Ron sniggered, and Nott scowled. "Watch it Potter… There's more of us, or can't you count?"

"Believe me, I'm quaking in my boots. Numbers aren't everything Nott; skill and power are kinda important too."

"We've got plenty of that as well."

Harry snorted. "Theo, you have noticed that Crabbe and Goyle are with you? Which one of them is using the brain-cell at the moment?" The two gorilla-like students failed to notice this insult, drawing a condescending smirk from Harry. Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson stepped forward though, and they were a different prospect. Pansy was fiendishly inventive, and loathed Hermione. Zabini didn't seem to want to duel, but was powerful and wouldn't abandon his friends. Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Ron edge his hand towards his wand, and heard Hermione sigh in exasperation. He carried on speaking. "Are we really going to do this Nott? It's unnecessary, Merlin only knows we don't want to be down here any longer than we have to."

"Someone's got to take you down a peg; you're still crowing about that Patronus."

Harry sighed. It had taken three days for the rumour to spread around the school, and he had seen no reason to deny it, although he had avoided demonstrations. He was hardly crowing.

"I mean, it's impressive, I'll give you that, but isn't it a little pathetic that you need it? Even the firsties can cope without passing out Potter. Wouldn't your parents be proud – shame you'll never know."

"At least Harry's parents wanted to be around him; did you ever find out what happened to your dad Nott?" Neville's voice cut across them, and Harry gave him a small grin of thanks. Nott however went white with rage.

"Don't you _dare!_" he hissed, and flicked his wand. Purple light flashed from it towards Neville, who ducked, rising with his wand out. Before he could return fire, Harry had snapped out his own banishing charm. To his dismay, Nott projected some sort of barrier from his wand, which seemed to absorb the spell, before flinging it back at Harry. He cast his own shield charm, but it collapsed under the force of the returned spell, knocking the wind out of him.

To his credit, Nott didn't try and hit him while he was down. He just began to speak again. "You really shouldn't be here Potter. You can't cope with the Dementors, and you're only going to attract him here. You do realize that don't you? Rosier wouldn't even think about coming here if you left; you're endangering us all just by being here. Just leave, we'd be safer, and I know we'd be a hell of a lot happier."

Harry felt a momentary flash of guilt, aware that Rosier was already here, but then wondered why the hell he was thinking that? He wasn't controlling Rosier. His only response to Nott was another spell, and bright flashing lights appeared around Nott's head. As Nott tried to clear his vision, Harry levelled his wand at him again.

_Sectumsempra, go on, try it out – get this wanker off your back._

Harry blinked in shock, and aimed his wand at the ceiling hastily. Fortunately, the voice seemed just to have been making a suggestion, not trying to cast a spell. He could feel Neville watching him, and some of the things his friend had just been saying rang around his head. He suddenly felt ashamed of himself. Picking a fight like this? It was pathetic, everything he didn't like about the Marauder's schooldays. He was better than this. Maybe Neville was right, maybe he was trying to be too much too soon.

Of course, this perhaps wasn't the best time for introspection. He only realised this when Blaise Zabini's disarming charm smacked him in the chest. Fortunately, it wasn't strong enough for him to lose his grip on his wand – his training had paid off in that regard at least – otherwise things might have turned nastier. As it was, he hurriedly cast the strongest shield charm he could. Nott glared at him from the other side of the barrier.

"Come on guys, we don't need this."

Hermione and Ron seemed confused by his sudden retreat, but Neville looked pleased. That was something, he supposed.

And he wished he could make up his mind about his mental guest. Good, bad – it seemed to flip from one to the other with ease. Encouraging serious violence against a young boy was definitely a black mark against it.

Why was life never simple?

* * *

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	16. Marauders vs Snape

**Chapter 14: Marauders vs Snape**

Remus looked up as Snape breezed into the staff common room. Harry had been complaining to him recently about Snape's conduct during lessons; apparently the potions master had been treating Harry dreadfully. Not that that was unusual for Gryffindor students in potions, but Harry claimed he had been worse ever since Halloween. And Remus was uncomfortably aware that it had been Halloween when he had come close – too close – to tearing Snape apart in a fit of rage.

Remus had been feeling indescribably guilty about his loss of control, and certainly couldn't blame Snape for feeling – bitter – about the whole thing. Especially given the run-in that they had had during their school years. But taking it out on Harry was inexcusable. He had done nothing to warrant Snape's ill temper.

He watched Snape carefully for the next hour or so, hiding behind the paper. Once Snape had finished reading his own copy, there followed the usual so-called 'friendly banter' about the students with the other heads of houses. Actually, that wasn't fair. While to an unseasoned observer it might seem as if his three colleagues loathed the man, to people who knew them there was an evident streak of respect at the very least with McGonagall and Sprout, while Flitwick actually seemed to quite like Snape. Of course, they had bridged the student/staff barrier on the duelling circuit before Snape had started teaching, so the diminutive Charms master had undoubtedly seen a different side of Snape. After this, and the following official discussion of the day, Snape retired for some private brewing. Remus followed him. Once they reached suitably secluded area of the school, he called out to him.

"Severus, could you just hang on a moment?"

Snape halted and turned round, his lip curling. "Lupin. Whatever could be so urgent that you break out of your fit of snivelling to actually speak to me? It's a shame, I must confess; I was enjoying the quiet."

Quelling his irritation, Remus spoke softly, calmly. "I hear that you've been causing Harry difficulties in lessons. Like destroying his potion samples so that he doesn't get the grade?"

Snape frowned. "Tut tut Lupin – so suspicious. It's true, Potter has difficulty even placing a test-tube on my desk securely, but I fail to see how that is my fault."

"Snape, I may not be a Legilimens, but I still know when someone's lying to me. And Harry wasn't – besides, he's too proud to blame others for his mistakes."

"Ah yes, the famous Potter pride. You must be so pleased that he inherited it…"

Remus took a deep breath, and offered silent thanks that it wasn't the full moon for another three days. Snape was being even ruder than usual. Forcing a smile, he retorted. "Yes actually Severus, I'm very proud of Harry. But that isn't the issue here: Harry's done nothing wrong. Don't blame him for my little – lapse in concentration."

"_Lapse of concentration?_ You tried to tear my throat out!" Snape hissed, spittle flying everywhere. Remus winced.

"I was trying to be delicate. But you're right, I did. _I_ did, not Harry. Your problem is with me, not him. You have every right to be furious with me, but take it out on me, not him."

Snape glowered at him briefly, and Remus braced himself for an onslaught. But then Snape subsided, and a strange glint appeared in his eye. A slow smile spread across his face.

"You're right of course Lupin; I have been a little unfair on the boy. Don't worry, from now on, I shall treat him as I do any other student. Good night…"

And he swept away, his robes billowing behind him. Remus stood there for a moment, confused by the unexpectedly easy victory. Then it hit him. He had more or less given Snape permission to persecute him. Cursing himself for an idiot, he hurried off to write a letter. He would probably need all the help he could get.

* * *

There were times – very rarely – when Harry thought Remus was an idiot. His guardian had told him that he had spoken to Snape about the man's conduct in lessons, and that Snape had assured him that he would behave properly from that moment on. To be fair to him, that was precisely true – Harry was now just one of the crowd. A crowd of students who were treated foully during Potions lessons, but at least he wasn't being singled out. Harry was therefore very grateful to Remus.

Then he found out that Remus had brought in Sirius and Peter. Quite apart from the fact that Snape loathed both of them as well – not that Harry particularly cared – there was the question of what Sirius would do if he found out _why _there was such a problem with Snape. Harry didn't particularly want his godfather duelling across the halls of Hogwarts. And of course, once they arrived, Snape was always in a foul mood, which was only to be expected now that his three least favourite people in the world were in the school.

Harry's lot had therefore only really improved for two lessons.

Still, it was good to have the whole gang together for awhile. Sirius and Peter were staying at the Three Broomsticks, but they had popped up to the school to see him the night they arrived. They had been dazzled by his Patronus, and had both expressed their views on him for wandering into the Forest late at night unsupervised. Oddly, Sirius had been the most disapproving, saying that "I don't want you anywhere near that bastard!" Peter had been disapproving, but with an amused set to his face that suggested he was aware of the hypocrisy of the Marauders disciplining him for being out of bounds. Sirius had also spoken of plans to make Snape regret upsetting Harry.

On his return to the common room, Harry advised his friends to stay away from Snape for the duration of the Marauder's visit. In addition, he told the twins to take notes.

* * *

Harry walked into the Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson in a curious whirl of apprehension and excitement. It was the first time that a full moon had coincided with one of their lessons, so Remus would not be teaching them. He wasn't certain who would be covering, and was privately hoping Dumbledore would step into the breach. He couldn't think of anyone else who would do an adequate job.

His disappointment on seeing Snape standing at the front of the classroom was therefore distinct and nearly overwhelming. The potions master sneered at him, but said nothing, even when taking the register. For some reason he had to call Hermione's name twice, much to her embarrassment and his disapproval. Once everyone had answered, he flicked his wand and instructions appeared on the blackboard.

"Since Professor Lupin has not seen fit to provide me with any guidance for this lesson, we shall have to make do. Turn to page three hundred, and make notes on the chapter. There will be a brief test at the end of the lesson. Well, what are you sitting around for? Get going!"

Harry flicked through the pages with a dispirited sigh. Apparently, despite Snape's legendary interest in the Dark Arts, his teaching style was going to be no better than the way he taught potions. Wonderful. Then he saw the chapter title, and froze.

Werewolves.

He looked up, gritting his teeth. Snape was staring at him from under his curtain of greasy hair, an infuriating smirk playing across his lips. Harry raised his hand. Snape ignored him. After a couple of minutes, Harry just spoke out.

"Professor. We aren't supposed to be studying werewolves till next term. We should be looking at gytrashs at the moment."

Snape gave him a cool, disdainful glance, then responded. "Your professor did not have the courtesy to provide me with a lesson plan Potter. And I would not like to provide you with mixed teaching on such an important subject. You will therefore read your chapter _in silence_."

"Professor, I really don't think – "

"Just one of many problems I have with you Potter."

Harry paused, trying to calm his breathing. "Sir, I think you'll find that there _is _a lesson-plan in Re – Professor Lupin's office. Surely it would be better if you followed that?"

"Five points from Gryffindor Mister Potter." Snape swept forward and leant over Harry's desk, placing his head close to Harry. "Page three hundred. Werewolves. Or can't you read?"

Harry glared back, but eventually gave in, turning to his book. He spent the rest of the lesson seething, barely paying attention; he was, naturally, fairly well-versed in the information about werewolves, and he was paying careful attention to every remark Snape made. He barely had a good word to say, and took every opportunity to disparage Remus' teaching and abilities. The test at the end focussed mainly on identifying and killing werewolves, which surprised Harry not at all. After the class was dismissed, Harry remained behind, boiling with anger. Snape looked at him with a cold smile and folded arms.

"Do you have something to say to me Potter?"

"What gives you the right to try and out him?" Harry hissed, dimly aware that he probably shouldn't talk to the least reasonable teacher in the school in such an amazingly unreasonable fashion, but he didn't really care. He hadn't been so angry since he had faced Tom Riddle's shade in the Chamber. Snape glowered at him.

"I only hope to educate students about the dangers of certain _creatures_."

"He isn't a creature, he's a person! When are you going to get over a school-boy grudge? It's pathetic!"

He instantly realised that he had gone too far. Snape had gone very still, bar a vein twitching in his neck, as if he was about to suffer an aneurysm. A satisfied smile spread over his face.

"Detention Potter. My office, eight pm this evening. Don't you dare be late."

And with that he strode from the room. Harry stood there another minute, wallowing in his rage. Snape really was an utter git sometimes.

* * *

In a small act of defiance, Harry arrived at his detention five minutes late. The table in Snape's office was piled high with dusty cardboard boxes, and Harry had a depressing feeling that they were meant for him. They did not look particularly stimulating.

"Potter." Snape's tone was cold, his habitual sneer somehow contained within the sound of his voice. "You are five minutes late; I think that two points for every minute will be an adequate penalty, don't you?"

Harry felt a stab of anger go through him, but forced himself to keep his expression blank. "Yes sir. Of course."

Snape smirked. "It is _so _good to see you controlling yourself at last Potter. Your display this afternoon was disgraceful; pampered, spoiled little brat you may be, but you will be a political figurehead in a few years… Merlin help us all. Perhaps you might actually be able to make a decent stab at it. Unlikely, but not impossible."

Harry smiled politely – he hoped. "I don't see myself being all that political… Sir."

Snape snorted. "You're the Boy-Who-Lived. You won't have a choice in the matter. Circe only knows why those idiots haven't done anything to prepare you for it."

"They are _not _idiots!"

Snape smirked, pressing his advantage. "Lupin is a barely controlled bundle of nerves, too scared to even teach magic properly lest he do something he regrets, too cowardly to use the responsibility he is given. Pettigrew is an outcast amongst his friends, and Black is a pathetic shadow of the ruthless bastard he used to be!"

One of the boxes on the table exploded as Harry's magic lashed out of him uncontrollably. Smouldering fragments of paper wafted gently to the floor around him. Snape actually grinned, his smile one of self-satisfaction. "And _you _cannot even control your own magic! You're little more than a whimpering child Potter."

"And _you've _never got over your childish grudge!" Harry shouted, his eyes blazing. "Yeah, my dad treated you badly, I get that. But you aren't exactly a model of compassion yourself are you? And I know that he saved your life, ok?

Snape went pale. "Really. And do you know the circumstances of that act of heroism?"

Harry hesitated. He didn't know, the Marauders had never elaborated, but he didn't want Snape to know that. He appeared to have worked it out though. "Your godfather thought it would be amusing to trick me into breaking into the Shrieking Shack at the full moon. It was only because your father got cold feet about that little jape that Lupin didn't tear me to shreds – a trick he seemed only to eager to repeat at Halloween!"

Harry froze up, Snape's words ringing in his ears. He couldn't – wouldn't – believe what he had heard. The Marauders would never have done anything like that, it was totally against their natures… But he had to admit, Snape didn't seem to be acting.

"You're lying…" He whispered, praying that he was right. Snape just sneered at him.

"Oh no Potter, you can trust me on this; your guardians tried to kill me." He spat the accusation, each word lashing at Harry almost physically. He felt himself retreating under the force of them, until he felt the doorknob poking into his back. He frantically scrabbled at it as Snape advanced, a terrible fury in his eyes. "How does it feel Potter? Does it hurt, knowing your father was a coward and that his friends would cheerfully kill someone they didn't like? And that was just one incident, your father made my life miserable! How would you know how it feels to be scared to walk the corridors, watching every corner for an attack? How would you cope if your only true friend was turned against you because of their lies?"

"You… You attacked them as well. You deserved it!" Harry regretted the words the moment they left his lips. Snape looked almost manic now, and at Harry's declaration he drew his wand, aiming it unwaveringly at Harry's face.

"Get out Potter." He whispered.

"Professor, I –"

"I said _GET OUT!_"

Magic exploded around the room, Harry's magic lashing out under the pressure of fear and anger, pushing the door wide open, while Snape appeared to have wrapped his magic around his words. Potion vials exploded, a cauldron warped out of shape, half melting, and chopped ingredients whirled round the room, lifted by the cloud of emotion charged magic.

Harry ran. He ran through the corridors, pushing past students who got in his way, Snape's accusations still ringing in his ears. Moments later, he burst onto the roof of one of the lower towers, gasping in air, having run from the dungeons faster than he had thought possible. He leant against the wall, sinking to the floor, turning everything over in his mind.

Snape was lying. He had to be. His dad wouldn't have been like that, never. Ok, he hadn't exactly been a saint, but never that bad. And the others… Sirius would never try to kill someone, and Remus abhorred violence.

And yet…

Why would Snape claim something like that? It wasn't as if he couldn't check; all three of the Marauders were at Hogwarts or close by, and Dumbledore and McGonagall at the very least had been teaching at the time, so they would know the truth. Why bother telling such an obvious lie?

He stood up. He knew who could tell him.

* * *

Remus looked up as the door opened, and wagged his tail in delight. He was lying in front of the fire in his office, docile under the Wolfsbane Potion. He was still a fearsome sight; the transformation racked him with pain, but left him a sleek, muscular wolf, half the height of a man when on all paws, but towering to nearly seven feet tall when reared up. His paws could crush, his claws could tear through flesh and bone like paper, and his jaw could bite through steel. Which made it all the more amusing when Sirius brought a little ball with a bell in it for him.

He rose, and padded over to Harry, whining as he rubbed his head against Harry's outstretched palm. His cub smelt scared, worried. He might have been ashamed, but he knew that Harry wasn't scared of him – he had seen him in his wolf form too many times now. His presence seemed to do no good though, and he retreated to his carpet by the fire, watching Harry anxiously.

Harry grinned half-heartedly, and turned to Sirius and Peter who were sitting in the corner, keeping an eye on Remus. They had shown up to make sure Snape didn't try anything after his conversation with Remus a few days previously. They greeted him cheerfully enough before Sirius noticed his godson's demeanour.

"Harry? What's up? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

"Snape." Harry said simply, taking a chair. Sirius and Peter glanced at each other.

"What's he done now? Need us to go and have a word with the greasy git?" Sirius continued.

"No!" Harry almost shouted. Sirius quirked an eyebrow in confusion.

"What happened Harry?" Peter asked in more gentle tones. His blue eyes were glittering with suspicion.

Harry sighed deeply, and looked Sirius square in the eye. "Sirius… What – why did my dad have to save Snape's life?"

Sirius started in shock, and shifted in his seat like a child caught misbehaving. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Peter nod slowly as if something had been confirmed.

"Erm – well, I'm not sure that's something you're ready to know yet Harry…" Sirius began, but he was interrupted by a cough from Peter.

"Sirius, I think Harry might already know something of it. He deserves the truth, don't you think?"

Sirius looked quizzically at his friend, and then rage settled across his face as the truth dawned. He turned back to Harry.

"What did that little git tell you Harry?"

"Why don't you tell me what happened first?" Harry replied, as calmly as he could. Godson and godfather stared at each other for a moment, and then Sirius sighed to himself.

"It was the summer of our fifth year, just after we took our O.W.L.s. Snape was already pissed at us for, well, for the way we'd treated him. He'd been trying to find out the truth about Remus since about halfway through our fourth year; whatever else he is, he's intelligent, and he worked out that Remus's story about a sick relative was rubbish. He was always following us around, trying to find out something he could use. So – I decided to give it to him. I told him that if he went to the Shrieking Shack, then he'd find out everything he wanted to know. So off he went, and it was only after he'd gone that James found out what I'd done. He was horrified, couldn't believe I could be so stupid. He went after Snape, dragged him away. But he'd already seen Remus as a wolf. He knew what would have happened if he'd got any further."

"So it's true; you really did try and kill him." Harry whispered. Sirius cringed.

"Harry, that's not – I wasn't trying to kill him, I just wanted to scare him! I didn't think it through, it was a mistake –"

"A mistake? Jesus Christ Sirius!" Harry turned away from his godfather, running his hands through his hair in shock and panic. Sirius reached out to him.

"Harry, you've got to believe me –"

"Got to? _Got to?_ You tried to murder someone, and you try and tell me what to do?" Harry stared at Sirius, a painful feeling of betrayal welling up inside him. It was as if he didn't really recognise his godfather, as if a mask had been stripped away and he was seeing the real Sirius Black for the first time. Sirius reached out to him again, but Harry jerked away.

"Don't. Just don't."

He walked away, out of the office, slamming the door so hard behind him that dust fell from the ceiling. Sirius started after him, but Peter grabbed his arm.

"No Sirius. He needs to digest this. Give him some time."

Sirius glared at him, and yanked his arm away. But he did not follow Harry, only paced like a caged lion for a few moments. Then he strode to the door, his face set.

"Sirius, where are you going?"

"After Snape."

Sirius was gone before Peter fully realised what was going on. With a curse, he rushed out of the room after him, calling his name.

Alone on the carpet, Remus began to whine softly.

* * *

Snape was in the staffroom, pouring over the evenings events in his mind. He wasn't sure whether to be pleased with himself or not. Certainly, it had been satisfying at the time, but what would happen when, as they inevitably would, Harry's guardians found out? He didn't fancy finding out, and he was beginning to wish that he had just stuck to insults as he had originally planned. Merlin take Potter for angering him so much anyway.

He practically jumped out of his seat when Sirius burst through the door. The Marauder scanned the room, locating him in an instant, and ran towards him. Snape tried to draw his wand, but Sirius was too quick for him, grabbing his collar and throwing him backwards. He landed on a table, breaking it under his weight, and he gasped as the air was driven from his lungs. Before he could recover, Sirius had dragged him to his feet once more, and almost immediately punched him hard in the face. Snape stifled a shriek as his nose erupted in pain, and he felt something warm and sticky begin to flow down his mouth and chin. He fell to the floor, grasping inside his robes for his wand, but Sirius kicked it away from him. He looked up, bleary eyed with pain, and blinked at the sight of Sirius' wand-tip an inch from his broken nose. The Marauder's eyes were blazing furnaces of fury, and for a moment Snape genuinely thought that he was about to die.

"_Enough!_"

Snape had never been so glad to hear Dumbledore's voice. The old man had his own wand out, aimed at Sirius. The Marauder wasn't quick enough to comply with Dumbledore's order, and with the merest flick of his wand Dumbledore banished Sirius's wand, catching it out of mid-air. Snape began to thank him, but Dumbledore silenced him with a gesture of his hand. The headmaster turned to Sirius.

"Explain yourself Sirius."

Sirius cowered at Dumbledore's voice. Strangely, he did not sound angry, merely disappointed. That didn't stop his eyes piercing him, giving him the impression that the powerful wizard could see his very soul. It was terrifying. Pulling himself together, he began to speak.

"Snivellus thought it would be funny to tell Harry about the Shack. Harry – did not react calmly."

Dumbledore held up his hand, and Sirius fell silent. Dumbledore sighed wearily, his beard quivering. When he looked up, the look in his eyes took Sirius's breath away.

"Sirius, I am truly sorry that Harry has had his faith in you shaken this way. However, I seem to recall telling you at the time that our actions always have consequences. Surely you didn't think I only meant detention?"

Sirius gaped, and Dumbledore shook his head, anger entering his voice for the first time. "You did something horrifically stupid, incredibly dangerous and monumentally callous Sirius. Such important occasions shape our lives and our futures, as you have seen today. Did you learn nothing Sirius? I am afraid that I cannot be wholly sympathetic." Dumbledore turned his gaze to Snape, and his eyes became altogether darker. "However, that does not excuse the manner in which Harry learnt of this. It was childish, pathetic, and beneath you Severus. And it pains me to say it, but much of your behaviour is in a similar vein."

Wisely, Snape said nothing. Dumbledore shook his head in disgust. "Go and get yourself cleaned up Severus. And Sirius, I suggest you conduct yourself in a manner more becoming of a guest of the school, or you may find your visiting rights under review."

Sirius just growled before snatching his wand back and marching out of the room. Snape staggered to his feet and made his way slowly to the door. As he walked to the hospital wing, he had the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. He whirled round, but there was no-one there. He drew his wand.

"Show yourself!"

Peter suddenly appeared close to him, apparently having been in his animagus form. His face was hidden in shadow. Snape tensed up, wary of the wizard in front of him. Pettigrew may have been a snivelling brat at school, but the war had hardened him. He was dangerous in a way Black never would be. Peter examined Snape's face carefully, before nodding.

"Looks like Sirius worked out his frustration on you then. Can't really say you didn't deserve it."

"I suppose you're here to take your turn are you?"

Peter shrugged. "Not really. I'm not one for fisticuffs to be honest. I just wanted to say something to you. If you do anything to hurt Harry again, then you will suffer. You know what I was Snape; you do not want to cross me. Remember that."

"Don't threaten me Pettigrew –"

"_Contundo!_"

Snape almost screamed as an unseen force pushed down on him, forcing him to his knees. He could hear his bones creaking under the pressure, and he bent with them, fearing they would snap if he did not. Then, just as the pain became almost unbearable, Peter lifted the curse.

"I'm not threatening you Snape. I'm making a promise."

Peter walked away, his robes swishing. Snape was left panting in a heap on the floor, his face still covered in blood.

Not for the first time, he cursed the day he had ever met the Marauders.

* * *

Harry had been wandering the corridors for nearly twenty minutes, lost in his thoughts. He felt as if a piece of himself had been torn away; Sirius had been one of his idols for as long as he could remember. He had never thought him perfect, but he had never thought him flawed, _wrong _before. The idea of him nearly killing someone for a joke was horrifying. He wasn't sure how their relationship was going to recover from this.

At least he could take comfort in the fact that his father had been good, that he _had_ saved Snape's life out of morality, not cowardice. Whatever his thoughts of Sirius right now, he was sure that he wasn't lying. At least he could say that.

Sighing in exhaustion, he sank to the floor, his back against the wall. He tried to think about other things, happier things, but he seemed to be incapable of concentrating on anything else.

"Hello Master Potter. Fancy meeting you here!"

Harry sat bolt upright, a shiver of fear running down his spine. The voice was chillingly familiar, despite the fact that he hadn't heard it since Halloween. He turned, slowly.

Evan Rosier stood there, a broad grin on his face. He was twirling his wand, but Harry had learnt. He watched his eyes. Fear began to well up inside him, suspiciously quickly. He surreptitiously sketched a particular rune in the air, not moving his hand too much. He felt the fear lessen, and he nodded in satisfaction. Some sort of spell to induce fear, Peter had been right. A neat trick. Rosier smiled.

"Still standing hero? Last time we met, you were cowering in fear by this point. May I be the first to congratulate you on growing a backbone?"

"Are we talking or are we fighting?" Harry interrupted him. Rosier's eyes sparkled.

"Such spirit! I wouldn't want to disappoint you Master Potter…"

Harry held his breath for a heartbeat. Two. Then Rosier flung his wand arm out, a look of manic delight in his eyes.

"_Crucio!"_

* * *

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	17. Manhunt

**Chapter 15: Manhunt**

"_Crucio!_"

Harry dived out of the way of the Unforgivable curse, rolling behind a suit of armour. Rosier began to laugh, a truly unnerving sound. Gripping his wand tightly, Harry took a deep breath, and dived back out.

"_Flipendo, Elido!_"

Rosier blocked the first spell almost carelessly, but the follow-up striking curse slammed hard into his chest, sending him staggering back a couple of paces. Harry darted forward, another spell rising to his lips, but Rosier shook of the strike almost instantly.

"_Caedes!_"

Harry shouted out a shield charm, but the powerful spell sliced straight through it, only slightly diminished in power. He cried out as the magic ripped at his chest, slicing a neat line through his robes and chest. Sinking to his knees, he held his hand over his wound, wincing at the feel of the blood trickling from him. Rosier began to laugh once more.

"A better showing than last time hero, I'll give you that. Not much better, but you've had other things on your mind, I'm sure. And I must say, I'm impressed with your knowledge of runes. They're an under-appreciated art Harry, very sad. Not many people your age would be able to counter the ones I'm using." He smirked. "Not totally effective though, is it? I can see it in your eyes, you're still scared. Little Elizabeth Godwin is still working her magic on you… how sweet!"

Harry blinked in confusion, and Rosier tugged open his robes. He was nearly skeletal, his ribs prominent. The most striking thing about him though was the series of runes daubed on his chest in blood. Harry stared in horror, and then Rosier's last remark sank in. He had used the blood of the little girl he had killed in Cornwall. Anger surged through him, and he rose to his feet, ignoring the screaming pain in his chest. He hurled spell after spell at Rosier, but the Death Eater just laughed, blocking them with simple flicks of his wand. Seeing that he was getting nowhere, Harry changed tactics. His next spell was sent at the floor, hitting it with explosive force. Rosier howled as chips of stone peppered his body, and his face was cut open in several places. Harry ran forward again, taking advantage of Rosier's wounds to cast another spell.

"_Depello!_"

The banishing spell hit Rosier hard, and he fell backwards, landing flat on his back. He didn't let this affect him too much though.

"_Ardesco!_"

A stream of fire shot from his wand towards Harry, and he whirled away. The flames caught the edge of his robe, and it took him valuable seconds to extinguish them. By the time they were out, Rosier was sitting up, his eyes glinting.

"You're doing very well hero."

"Stop calling me that!" Harry ground out.

"Oh, but you are a hero Harry!" Rosier protested. "You killed a basilisk last year after all, and here you are, battling a vicious, evil Death Eater… It was all in Elizabeth's scrapbook!"

Harry growled, and raised his wand again, but Rosier had another trick up his sleeve. He twirled his wand, and the window near him shattered into razor sharp shards. Another flick, and they sped towards Harry. He cast a shield charm, but it wasn't as effective against physical attacks. The shards were slowed, but not stopped, and they cut into him like knives. He howled in pain, and Rosier stood up again, still grinning.

Then someone cannoned into Harry, knocking him flat.

He raised his head to see Sirius standing there, wand drawn, facing Rosier. Rosier was not grinning anymore; his face was a mask of hatred. Sirius spoke over his shoulder.

"Harry, run. Go and get Dumbledore."

"Sirius –"

"Just go!"

Harry ran as fast as he could, the sounds of duelling following him. He wasn't truly worried; Sirius was a good duellist, and Rosier was already injured, albeit not that badly. However, by the time he reached the fourth floor, the chest wound Rosier had given him was nearly crippling him with pain. Peter and Remus had been very conscientious about teaching him duelling spells and how to move, but hadn't yet seen fit to teach him any kind of healing spell. He was beginning to wish that they had.

He eventually staggered up to the door of the staffroom, gasping for breath. The two gargoyles that stood outside the room took one look at him and swept aside, opening the door as they did so. Harry practically fell through the door, to the understandable shock of the staff inside. Firm hands grasped his shoulders, and he looked up into Dumbledore's gentle blue eyes.

"Harry, what happened? Tell me, quickly!"

"Rosier… Charms corridor… Sirius is duelling him."

Dumbledore's eyes went dark. He looked up at the surrounding staff.

"Professor Vector, get Harry to Madame Pomfrey. Minerva, Filius, Pomona, come with me. It seems we need to defend the school."

* * *

Dumbledore and the three heads of houses hurried through Hogwarts to the Charms corridor. They all had previous experiences with Rosier. Dumbledore and McGonagall had taught and fought him, known him as student and Death Eater, and he had always been formidable. Flitwick had taught him a great deal of his duelling knowledge, while Sprout had been his head of house. They knew what to expect from him, and it was not comforting.

They were therefore not surprised to see Sirius sprawled on the floor, covered in blood and cradling his arm to his chest. He looked highly annoyed. He looked up at the sound of their approach.

"I'm sorry, he got away; he's unnatural…"

"Which way did he go Sirius?" Dumbledore asked him. Sirius raised his arm, pointing down the corridor. Dumbledore raised his wand, and a silvery bird – Dumbledore's Patronus – shot out, swooping away from them in a blinding flash of light. While he did this, Flitwick and McGonagall aimed their wands at the suits of armour; they shimmered briefly, before streams of light shot between them, connecting them in a long chain. The light continued down the corridor and around the corner. Their tasks finished, the four staff members turned to each other and raised their wands above their heads, the tips almost touching. Dumbledore began to chant.

"Noble Founders, your walls have been breached. Darkness has entered, and the charges of the castle are in danger. Turn your magic to him; find the one who threatens our safety. Banish the Darkness, send forth the Light!"

Light like a miniature sun flooded the corridor, and there was a great rush of wind. Watching in fascination – although blinded by the light from the wands – Sirius felt old, powerful magic wash over him, flooding his body. It was an intense feeling, as if it was burning inside him. He gritted his teeth against the fire, made difficult by the pain he was already in from his wounds, and took the feeling as well as he could. Several moments later, the light dimmed, and the fire inside him dimmed, the pain receding. He grinned in exhilaration, and couldn't contain a bark of laughter.

"That – that was incredible! Erm… What does it do?"

Dumbledore rolled his eyes good-naturedly, although he looked as if the spell had taken a great deal out of him; this went double for the other three staff members.

"The spell will seek out anyone who wishes harm to those within the school. In theory at least; it was far from successful last year, and we tried it several times."

Sirius looked suitably impressed, although his attempt was marred somewhat by the large grin on his face. He tried to stand up, but collapsed to the floor again, pain written all over his face. McGonagall glared at him.

"For Merlin's sake Sirius, stop trying to impress us." She flicked her wand, and a brace wrapped itself around his arm. He grimaced, as if it had only aggravated the broken bones.

"It was the chest wound I was more worried about to be honest, but thanks anyway." He struggled to his feet. "Come on, let's get after him, he can't have got far!"

"No. Sirius, you need to go and get fixed up, you won't be any good to us like this." Dumbledore interjected. "Minerva, Filius, Pomona, go to your students, take them to the Great Hall. We need them secure in one place. The rest of us shall search the castle."

Sirius set off, looking back over his shoulder at the Headmaster. He was an imposing sight. His eyes were shining brightly with the magic and passion behind them, and despite his advanced years, he looked like a warrior. For a moment, Sirius genuinely pitied Rosier.

* * *

On his entry to the Great Hall, Harry was greeted by a bear-hug from Hermione, her bushy hair practically knocking his glasses off. He patted her weakly on the back, trying to convey the fact that he was in considerable pain, but that was what Madame Pomfrey was there for.

"Miss Granger, if you persist in squeezing Mr Potter like that, you will only damage his ribs further. I trust this is not your intention?"

Hermione leapt back with a squeak of embarrassment, but didn't hold back completely. "Harry, we were so worried! What happened?"

Harry was about to speak, but noticed the large number of people standing around, pretending not to listen. He gestured vaguely at them. "I'll tell you in a bit." Hermione nodded in understanding, and pulled him away from Madame Pomfrey, who let him go with one final warning to "avoid strenuous activity". Quite what she thought he would be getting up to while he was asleep, supervised by staff and prefects, he was not entirely sure. Ginny looked as if she wanted to hug him too, but mindful of Madame Pomfrey's warning she settled for clutching his arm tightly all the way to the space they had claimed for their sleeping bags. Harry sat down, grunting as the movement tugged on the wound on his chest. Neville looked at him in concern.

"How badly did he hurt you?"

Harry shrugged, trying to dismiss it, but this only irritated his wound further. Neville's sardonic look at this made him consider the futility of carrying on the deception, and he gave in.

"He cut my chest open, did some damage to my ribs as well, but they aren't broken. Stabbed me with a load of broken glass, which was very unpleasant. Oh, and he nearly set me on fire. On the other hand, I knocked him on his arse and chipped him in the face like he'd cut himself shaving, so it wasn't entirely one-sided." His analysis came out more bitter than he had intended, and it was clear that Neville and Hermione, at least, had noticed. Ron however clapped him on the shoulder, eliciting another little gasp of pain.

"Oh, sorry mate… But that's a good showing, right? You stood up to him, tried your best. How many thirteen year-olds do you see doing that? You should be pleased!"

Harry had to grin at Ron's near eternal optimism. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I did work out what he was doing to make me so scared the last time though; some Rune spell he had daubed on his chest."

Ginny looked askance at him. "Do we want to know why you were looking at his chest so closely?"

"Ha-ha. He showed me, if you must know. He wanted me to see that he'd written it in blood."

Ginny drew back, her face drawn with disgust, and her attempt at levity forgotten. "That's disgusting. How could anyone do that?"

"I'm not sure I want to know to be honest" was Harry's only reply. Trying to gloss over that particular detail, Neville leant forward.

"So what happened? How did you get away?"

"We duelled for a bit, then Sirius showed up, sent me for Dumbledore. Professor Vector took me to get patched up, and then Madame Pomfrey brought me down here."

Neville nodded. "We wondered if Snape might have been involved somehow, he looked pretty beat up when he brought the Slytherins in earlier."

Harry nodded. He had seen Snape in the Hospital Wing when he arrived, and had been uncomfortably aware that Sirius might well have been responsible for that as well. It was not a pleasant notion.

Now that Harry's first hand evidence had been exhausted, conversation turned to rumour. The most pressing subject on everyone's lips was – perhaps understandably – the question of how Rosier had got into the castle. It couldn't have been easy; he would have had to work past the horde of Dementors outside the grounds before he even thought about the wards of the school itself. Harry and his friends knew that Rosier had been hiding in the Forest for awhile, but did not mention this, for obvious reasons. The knowledge wouldn't have answered any questions anyway, as it didn't explain how he had avoided the Dementors. Very soon, wild speculation was passing back and forth. Harry thought the best one he heard was that Rosier was actually dead, and that it was his ghost haunting Hogwarts. As Ron said, in a sarcastic undertone, "It would make Peeves look like Heaven wouldn't it?"

Around ten, Percy came round, telling them all to get to sleep. Harry was still wide awake though, and even if he hadn't been, the cut on his chest was aching. He was a little worried about it. Madame Pomfrey had necessarily been hurried in her ministrations, and while he trusted her to have healed him properly, he wasn't sure whether she would have been able to ensure a lack of scarring. He didn't particularly want an ugly mark on him for the rest of his life. After all, he already had more than his fair share.

Harry was still awake at midnight, when Dumbledore and various other staff members, along with Sirius and Peter, arrived. They happened to be quite close, and he could hear them talking. Depressingly, much of it amounted to variations on "We can't find anything".

It was when they began to discuss how Rosier had entered the castle that the conversation became interesting.

"The Dementors saw nothing, and Hagrid's spoken to the centaurs and Aragog. However he got in, it wasn't through the Forest, and he cannot have come through the main gates." Dumbledore sounded weary. The knowledge that he was effectively powerless to stop Rosier breaking in and threatening students whenever he pleased was clearly taking its toll. "I don't suppose that any of you have uncovered any likely entrances?"

Filch was the first to speak. "I've checked all the hidden passages Headmaster; doesn't look like anyone's used them for years, but someone might want to check them again. Just in case, you know."

"And we've had a look at the tunnels we told you about Albus." Sirius butted in. "Some of them have collapsed since we last used them, the others look undisturbed. He wasn't using them to get in, he probably doesn't even know about them."

Harry grinned at this. The Marauders had told him about their wanderings, and the passages they had discovered. It had been a clear source of disappointment that the map they had put together had been confiscated shortly before they left Hogwarts; he idly wondered if Filch still had it locked away somewhere. He also noticed that Snape was standing as far away from Sirius and Peter as he possibly could. There were more comments from the other staff present, but again, it boiled down to none of them having a clue about how Rosier had got in.

"Face it Albus, the only way he could have got in is if he had someone on the inside helping him out. I can't think who it could have been…" Sirius was looking at Snape for his last, deeply sarcastic comment. Snape rolled his eyes, an expression of irritation mirrored on Dumbledore's face.

"I have nothing to do with any of this Black. Rosier is not exactly a close friend of mine you know."

"He used to be."

"Yes, when we were _at school_! I've barely thought about him in over a decade, and the only thing he'd want to do with me now is kill me slowly."

"Yeah right, you spent a lot of time with him during the war didn't you Snivillus?"

Snape glowered, and seemed to be barely restraining himself from shouting. "I was a spy you imbecile! And that is public knowledge! Rosier would want me dead at best, nothing more!"

"Wow, for once I can agree with him."

Snape went for his wand, but before anything could happen Dumbledore stepped between them, looking distinctly unhappy. "I would have thought that under the circumstances the two of you might have put aside your differences. This is most disappointing. I've already had to break you apart once tonight, I will be most displeased if I have to do so again."

Watching his godfather and his professor standing off, Harry was filled with a bitter disappointment. Much as he loathed Snape, he hated that Sirius had resorted to violence against him. Fortunately, he was not forced to watch them fight. Dumbledore's words had sunk in, and they both holstered their wands, although their mutual hatred had an almost tangible presence.

"I don't think there's anyone in the castle who'd willingly help Rosier Albus." Peter had stepped forward in an effort to break the tension. "None of the staff have any reason to help him, and the students wouldn't be capable even if they did want to."

"We shouldn't forget that there's someone else out there who might have been helping him." Snape muttered, turning his gaze to Peter now. There was an odd gleam in his eye. "We know that Dearborn is active again. It certainly isn't impossible that he's helping Rosier."

"That doesn't explain how he got into the castle Severus. Caradoc isn't here you know." Dumbledore reminded him patiently.

"Ah, but there are people who might provide assistance to him, if not to Rosier." A satisfied smirk was playing across Snape's lips now, and he looked positively eerie in the half-light. At his words, Peter looked up, his eyes narrowed. "We are, after all, playing host to one of his closest companions."

Peter stepped forward. "Be very careful what you suggest Snape. Remember our last conversation…"

Snape sneered at him. "None of us were as close to Dearborn as you Pettigrew. Maybe we should look to your motivation; I'm not the only dark –"

Whatever Snape had been about to say was cut off as Peter jabbed his wand into his throat. His face was cloaked in shadow, and his voice was cold.

"You don't learn do you Snape? You're pathetic, you know that? A pitiful excuse for a human being…"

Dumbledore sighed in exasperation, and clicked his fingers meaningfully. There was a brief flash of light, as if something had given off a spark, and Peter stepped back, rubbing his arm in pain. Snape looked much more cheerful now, although his expression was tinged with trepidation. Dumbledore looked round the group, his face stern.

"I do not believe that anyone in this castle is helping Rosier – or Caradoc, if he truly is back in England. However, Severus's initial point is valid; we must remain vigilant." He turned, his gaze sweeping out across the sleeping students, and Harry shut his eyes hastily. "And hope that they can be caught before the innocent are brought into this conflict."

Harry lay there in silence as the staff began to leave, thinking over what he had heard. The faint sound of whispered conversation made him open his eyes slightly. Sirius and Peter were there, muttering to each other. Sirius laughed at something, and slapped Peter heartily on the shoulder with a grin. Peter shook his head and walked off. Sirius turned to look at the students, and smirked at something before walking away as well. Harry sighed deeply. He had a feeling that Sirius had been joking about Snape.

It had not been a good night all in all.

* * *

Somewhat to Harry's surprise, classes continued as normal the next day. In theory at least; he was sure that Snape and McGonagall were the only teachers in the school who might actually manage to get any work out of their classes. Everyone was simple too busy talking about the events of the previous evening to pay attention to cheering charms, or the position of Uranus.

Harry himself was more distracted by the details of his guardians' activities at school than his duel with Rosier, although he had managed to pass off his lethargy as residual pain from his injuries. He was also getting annoyed with people coming up to him in the corridors begging for blow by blow accounts of the duel; fortunately they had ceased after he threatened to give a live demonstration to anybody who asked him.

The resulting calm left him free to wallow in his misery. The idea of Sirius trying to kill someone… it was genuinely painful. Harry wasn't an idiot, he knew that the war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters had been vicious and bloody, and that Sirius – and indeed Remus and Peter – had likely killed people in combat. But that was different to trying to trick someone into being eaten by a werewolf, for no other reason than personal dislike. It was horrible.

In a bid to satisfy his curiosity as to _why _they would do something like that, Harry made his way back to Remus' office at the end of the day. He was fairly sure – he was hoping – that Remus would not have had anything to do with Sirius's little joke, and he could probably rely on a fair telling from him, rather than one skewed by anger or shame. However, Remus was nowhere to be seen. Peter on the other hand was very visible, sitting at Remus's desk, reading the paper. He looked up at Harry's entry.

"Hey there. How're you feeling? Sirius made it sound like you put up a hell of a fight against Rosier. I'm proud of you." He graced Harry with a rare smile, and Harry grinned sheepishly.

"I could have been better, but I guess I wasn't too bad. Oh yeah, that thing you were telling me about Death Eaters using runes on themselves? It's true, at least with Rosier. He showed me after he realised I'd countered it. Well, kinda."

Peter nodded with interest. "Nice to have that confirmed. I'll pass it on to Dumbledore – if he doesn't already know of course?"

Harry shook his head, and took a chair in silence. Peter frowned at him, and folded the paper. "What's up? Are your injuries still hurting?"

Harry shrugged.

"This is about last night then – about Sirius."

Harry nodded, looking slightly embarrassed. Peter sighed, and leaned back in his chair. "So, what do you want to know?"

"Why would he do something like that? Why would any of you?"

Peter frowned. "In our defence, it was solely Sirius's idea. We had nothing to do with it. As for Sirius… Well, let's just say he was never a tactician. He meant what he said last night Harry, he genuinely didn't think that Snape would die. He just wanted to scare him. Which he certainly managed…" The expression on Harry's face seemed to suggest that he didn't find that much of a comfort, and Peter sighed again. "Harry, you have to understand that while we never treated Snape kindly, it wasn't as if he didn't fight back. He knew more curses when he arrived at the school than most of the seventh years, and he's always been obsessed with the dark arts. Make no mistake, Snape is a dark wizard through and through."

Harry nodded. This information didn't come as a huge shock after nearly three years being taught by the man, and unlike many, he didn't see it as necessarily being a bad thing. It did bring something else to mind though. Before he could raise this point, Peter continued.

"That was largely why James and Sirius went after him. They always hated the dark arts, Sirius especially." He didn't need to explain why. Harry knew the gist of Sirius's childhood. Before he could carry on, Harry interrupted.

"You make it sound like it was just Sirius and my dad. What about you and Remus?"

Peter shrugged, a bitter smile spreading across his lips. "Remus was the good boy of the group; prefect, model student, et cetera, et cetera… He pranked people, but he was never a bully. And I was just a hanger-on then Harry. Your dad, Sirius and Remus were my only friends, I didn't want to jeopardize that. I never instigated anything, but I joined in happily enough."

"Much as it pains me to say it Harry, Peter gives me too much credit." Remus stood in the doorway, looking weary and a little upset. "I might not have joined in, but I certainly didn't try and stop them. Although his point about Snape retaliating is well made. We ended up in the Hospital Wing more than once because of him." He made his way to the desk, and perched himself on it. Harry smiled sheepishly at him, and he reached out, ruffling his wards hair. There was silence while Harry digested everything Peter had told him. Despite everything, he did feel better. He still didn't agree with what they had done – far from it – but at least he could understand a little of why they had done it now. He still had questions.

"He said something else as well… Something about you driving away his only friend. What did he mean by that?"

Remus and Peter exchanged a glance. They both looked a little worried. After a moment, Remus answered. "Snape grew up in the same village as your mother Harry; they were good friends before they even came to Hogwarts. Once they were sorted into Slytherin and Gryffindor, this friendship was… frowned upon shall we say. It wasn't helped by the vast majority of Snape's peers being Death Eaters in waiting – he became sucked into their little crowd. Accusing us of driving them apart isn't entirely fair Harry, it was more his growing interest in the dark arts than anything else, but he probably doesn't want to admit that to himself. They finally broke apart about a week before he tried to get into the Shack actually."

Harry absorbed this in silence, a little stunned. It explained a lot – although again, not all of the details were entirely pleasant. Given the state of the war at the time, it was hardly unexpected that people showing an interest in the dark arts clashed with those who despised them. But the consideration of darks arts brought back the memory he had had earlier in the conversation.

"Peter… Why did Snape say he wasn't the only dark… Well, I assume he was going to say wizard. Last night, in the hall. And what did he mean by saying you were one of Caradoc Dearborn's closest companions?"

Peter's jaw dropped, and for some reason, he _blushed_. Only mildly, but Harry still noticed. Remus cleared his throat. "Perhaps I should go and get on with some work. I'll… I'll see you later. Oh, and Harry? You did _brilliantly _last night. You should be proud; I know I am."

Harry grinned appreciatively, and Remus hugged him briefly before leaving. Peter was still sitting there, looking shocked. After a moment, he shook his head, trying to pull himself together.

"Right… Well, which would you like me to answer first?"

"Either."

"Well… All he meant was that Caradoc and I were – close."

"I picked that up myself thanks. Must have been very close to comment on it like that."

"Well yes, we were – we were very close." Peter seemed to be trying to get something across to Harry with his eyes, but the message completely went over Harry's head. Peter sighed yet again.

"We… We dated for awhile."

Harry blinked, thinking he hadn't heard properly. Then he realised that he had. "Oh. _Oh_. Right. I – I see. Fine. _Oh_." He didn't know quite where to look, and it was clear that Peter was feeling a little uncomfortable as well. His guardian was flushed, and Harry realised that he must be as well; his face certainly felt uncomfortably warm. "But – but what about Emmeline?" Peter had had a brief relationship with Emmeline Vance, another member of the Order, a few years ago.

"Oh yes… Well, I've never believed in limiting myself in such matters Harry." Peter told him, somewhat awkwardly.

"Oh. Ok then…"

There was an uncomfortable silence. Neither Peter or Harry could look each other in the eye. After a couple of minutes, Peter spoke.

"Maybe we should talk about something a little less embarrassing, what do you say?"

Harry nodded fervently. "Oh yeah. I mean, no offence, but that's going straight in my little box of things I don't like to think about."

Peter chuckled, then looked worried. "It doesn't bother you does it?"

"No, not at all. It's just, you know – unexpected. And not something I particularly want to think about."

"No, I guess it isn't." Peter took a deep breath. "What was the other thing? Oh yeah… the 'dark' thing… Well, I guess there's no real way of putting this nicely Harry. I was an assassin during the war."

Silence fell again, for entirely different reasons.

"You were an _assassin_? Merlin's balls…"

Peter winced, as if he had expected this reaction but still didn't like it. "We joined the war at a particularly bad time Harry; desperate times and all that."

"Yeah, but still… you killed people?"

"Do you really think that Sirius and Remus haven't? That your mum and dad didn't? They all fought in several battles Harry." Peter said, looking at him seriously.

Harry hesitated. "Yeah. Yeah, I know that. But that – that's self-defence Peter. That's different."

Peter sat back, a satisfied smile on his face. "Yes Harry, it's very different. It's so good to know you realise that."

Harry blinked rapidly in confusion as he realised that Peter was proud of him for his comment.

"Harry, all I can say in my defence is that, at the time, we genuinely didn't have any other way of conclusively taking Death Eaters out of the war. Azkaban was a joke back then, the Dementors basically worked with Voldemort – not that the Ministry ever admitted that. I've never quite come to terms with what I did to people, but I sleep at night in the knowledge that there are so many people alive because I killed those Death Eaters. But killing someone deliberately, in cold blood… That leaves a mark Harry. I hope you never have to do it."

Harry sighed, his head whirling from everything he had learnt over the last couple of days.

"So do I Peter, so do I."

* * *

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	18. Prophecy

**Chapter 16: Prophecy**

It was a subdued Easter break. Harry was still recuperating, and the wound on his chest was beginning to scar. It put a definite block on his and Dudley's usual activities; it was hard to do anything other than laze around the house when strenuous activity left him gasping. This was made all the worse by the fact that Sirius seemed to be avoiding Privet Drive like the plague.

He understood why. Well, kind of. He was feeling a little confused about his godfather at the moment. All the good things about him were currently eclipsed by the shock and pain of his actions against Snape. They had spoken once after Rosier's break in, and it had not gone well. Sirius had admitted attacking Snape, and Harry had been appalled. He had walked away without saying anything, and hadn't seen or spoken to him since. Of course, when Aunt Petunia had heard about Sirius's rampage, she had been far from impressed, and Harry suspected that Sirius might be too scared to face her. His aunt was formidable when she put her mind to it.

He hadn't seen any of the Marauders since the end of term actually. He rather thought Remus was feeling guilty about not having been able to help him that night, which was patently ridiculous, and Peter was most likely a little embarrassed about everything they had discussed. It was still sinking in as far as Harry was concerned. The more he thought about it though, the role of assassin fitted Peter rather well. Guilt and trauma over what he had seen and done also explained the dramatic change in his character from his boyhood.

It was during the third week of the holiday that Remus finally made an appearance. He looked dishevelled, and paler than ever, as if he had been under a great deal of stress. After making small talk with the Dursley's for awhile, he took Harry for a walk in the park. As they walked, Remus tried to engage Harry in conversation, but his attempts were laboured to say the least. In the end, Remus flopped down under a tree, and looked up at his ward, a sheepish grin on his face.

"I'm not handling this terribly well am I?"

Harry chuckled wryly in response. "Not terribly; goes for both of us I guess." He sat down next to his guardian, and there was a moment of more comfortable silence. Then:

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help against Rosier Harry. If Sirius hadn't been there…"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't beat yourself up about it Moony. You were… indisposed, it was hardly your fault was it?" He looked sideways at Remus, and punched his arm gently when he saw the guilty look on his face. Remus just chuckled, shaking his head at himself.

"I know it's stupid Harry, but whoever said emotions were logical? Just let me wallow in my uselessness for awhile, I'll get over it."

They both grinned at each other, and Harry leant back against the tree, watching some children run around on the play-park. Remus apparently had more to say however.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around as well, I wanted to come and see you sooner, but I've been looking for a decent potions brewer."

Harry frowned in confusion. "What do you need brewing? The only potion you take is Wolfsbane, and Snape's brewing that isn't he?"

Remus's expression soured. "He certainly was, but after Sirius and Peter beat the hell out of him I'd like a back up source."

Harry stared, a familiar anger coming back to him. "Sirius _and _Peter? I know Sirius broke his nose; what did Peter do?"

Remus winced. It seemed that he hadn't known about Harry's ignorance. "He held Snape under a Pressure Curse. It nearly snapped his spine apparently."

Harry turned away. "He didn't tell me that."

"Harry – "

"They haven't grown up at all have they? They bullied him at school and they're still doing it now!"

"That's hardly fair Harry." Harry actually cringed at that; he couldn't remember ever hearing Remus so stern. "I'm not going to excuse or condone their actions, but don't exonerate Snape; he's the one who's trying to fracture your relationship with Sirius. Can you excuse that? Snape is a bitter, twisted man. Like I said the other week, it wasn't as if he didn't bully people. That was partly why James didn't like him, because he was always… practicing… the curses he'd learnt. Besides, how different is it really to you duelling those kids last year?"

Harry absorbed this information in silence. Although the comparison Remus had offered was a little weak – Carter and Pechorin _had _tried to kill, or at least seriously injure him – his guardian did have a point. He'd been so busy being disappointed in his godfather that he hadn't really stopped to consider that side of things, and he said as much to Remus, somewhat shamefaced. To his surprise, Remus smiled at him in satisfaction.

"That's because you don't like to see people suffering Harry – which is a good thing, but don't let it blind you to the truth."

"I'll do my best."

Remus clapped him on the back. "Well that's ok then! Now, how about some ice-cream?"

Harry laughed, and nodded gratefully. Remus could always make him feel better.

That had been the holiday. Harry and his friends were now back at school, and he was feeling much better about things. The wound on his chest had indeed left a scar, but it was barely noticeable unless you happened to know that it was already there. It had ceased to pain him though, for which he was thankful.

He still hadn't seen Sirius.

He was feeling a little better about that though. When he had voiced his concerns to Remus, his reaction had been one of exasperated amusement.

"He's having a few problems with the Ministry Harry; they want to get into Grimmauld Place to carry out an investigation, and I think the Department of Mysteries are trying to get their hands on some of the darker artefacts they've got."

"Why doesn't he let them? It isn't as if he cares about the house…"

Remus had just grinned – there was no other word for it – wolfishly at him. "Sirius? Co-operate with the Ministry? Be serious Harry, he's doing everything he can to hold them up just to annoy them. A little childish I guess, but it amuses him."

So Harry was concentrating on getting back into the swing of things at Hogwarts. It wasn't going too badly. Snape was still brewing the Wolfsbane Potion for Remus – he didn't know how grudgingly – so Remus continued to teach without concern. And while Harry deplored bullying, he had to admit that Snape had been much better behaved since Sirius had broken his nose, so that was a bonus. Lessons continued much the same as ever, although they were now largely given over to revision, which Harry found tedious. He generally felt that if it hadn't sunk in the first time round, then it wasn't going to make much of an impression when he re-read his notes, but his aunt and uncle had never accepted that as an excuse for skiving.

He would rather be bored than in Hermione's position though. His friend had been working incredibly hard throughout the year, getting increasingly irritable workwise. He still didn't know how she was managing her timetable, but repeated questioning brought polite refusal at best and most impolite hexing at worst, so the problem had been shifted down his list of priorities. Now the exams were approaching though, Hermione was beginning to concern everyone who knew her; she seemed to be heading rapidly towards a nervous breakdown.

It was of course normal for Hermione to be reading, sometimes several different books at once. However, up till now she had always found time to do something else. Now that she had entered serious revision mode, she had to be persuaded to eat, let alone take a break. It couldn't be healthy for her, but she had thus far resisted all attempts to distract her. Harry had eventually realised that steps needed to be taken when she had dropped her exam timetable without realising; quite how she was supposed to sit two exams at once he wasn't entirely sure. So, together with Neville and Ron, he had sat down with her, and they had laid out their concerns plain and simply for her.

Shortly afterwards, they had fled the common-room with enchanted quills following them, jabbing them painfully at every opportunity. So skilled a witch was Hermione that it had taken them nearly an hour to dispel the charms, and they had resolved to try a more subtle approach.

Then, after Transfiguration one afternoon, Professor McGonagall had kept Hermione back for a brief chat. The threesome waited for her patiently, ruminating on what was happening.

"I mean, it's Hermione, it isn't like she's going to be in trouble is it?" Harry commented breezily.

Ron and Neville looked at each other. "Harry – it's about her workload. We went and told her we were worried about Hermione, and she said she knew what was going on, but that she'd talk to her for us." Ron told him a little impatiently.

Harry paused, a blank expression on his face. "Huh?" he responded, intelligently.

Neville rolled his eyes. "Harry, not everything needs a cunning plot. This was something simple, so we came up with a simple solution."

"Oh. Ok. I didn't know."

"Yeah, you were training with Remus." Neville's tone was an attempt at matter-of-fact, but the topic was dangerously close to the argument they had started and never finished the previous term, and they both knew it.

There was an awkward pause, and Ron seemed to be rather confused by it all. Harry sighed regretfully.

"Yeah, I know, I spend a lot of time doing that. But I don't have much choice in the matter Nev, I need to know how to fight."

"Why? Let the Aurors deal with Rosier."

"It's not just Rosier – "

The classroom door opened, and Hermione walked out. She looked much happier than they had seen her for a while, although her expression soured a little bit when she saw them. She placed her hands on her hips, looking at them sternly.

"That was a dirty trick. Rude, almost."

The three boys shuffled on the spot, preparing to run should anymore quills get enchanted; Harry did his best to indicate subtly that it had been Ron and Neville behind it. Hermione's gaze softened.

"Thank you. I should have done that a long time ago."

"Done what?" asked Ron, a note of hope entering his voice as it became apparent that she wasn't going to curse them for interfering.

"Dropped Divination. I mean, it's a pointless subject, and I was about one crystal-ball reading away from turning her blood to silver."

Harry sniggered, and then blanched. "You can't do that can you? Turn someone's blood to silver?"

Hermione gave him a pointed look. "Why on earth would I want to know a spell like that? I'm never going to meet a werewolf, am I?"

Harry laughed uneasily. "Good point…"

Neville stepped forward. "So, you ever going to explain how you were managing all that?"

Hermione pulled a face. "I shouldn't… It's supposed to be a secret."

Ron and Neville tried to persuade her as they set off to the common room, but Harry was thinking of other things. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but did Hermione know something? It wasn't as if Remus's lycanthropy was a secret from his friends exactly; it was just that he hadn't and wouldn't tell them. Of course, Neville and the Weasley's had known Remus for years, so they might have worked it out on their own, but he doubted it. Hermione though was perfectly capable of fulfilling Snape's desire. She would have read the chapter, taken detailed notes, and could then easily have had an epiphany. He resolved to watch how she behaved around Remus.

"All right, all right!" Hermione beckoned them into a nearby classroom, and locked the door behind them. Reaching into her robes, she pulled on a golden chain, and revealed a tiny hourglass dangling from it. The sand inside it glowed like fireflies. It was almost hypnotic. The design seemed familiar to Harry from somewhere, but he couldn't place it.

"What is it?" Ron asked, an admiring expression on his face.

"A Time-Turner." Hermione said, preparing to launch into a detailed explanation, but she was cut off.

"A Time-Turner? Bloody hell Hermione, how'd you get hold of one of them?" Harry exclaimed.

She shrugged. "Professor McGonagall sorted it out, vouched for me and everything. Why so surprised?"

"You do realise you could rip apart the space/time continuum with that thing if you aren't careful don't you?" Harry asked. Hermione squeaked, and nearly dropped it.

"No I wasn't!" She looked at the little hourglass in horror. "God… She might have warned me!"

There was the sound of a snigger being repressed. Both Ron and Neville were going red trying to hold their amusement in. Hermione quirked an eyebrow at them.

"Yes? Was there something?"

"Oh, it's just… It's just you're that much of a teacher's pet they'll entrust you with state secrets and not even warn you about how dangerous they are!" Ron's remark was too much for Neville, who began to laugh out loud. Hermione did not look impressed, but after a moment gave a reluctant twitch of her lips.

"I suppose it is kind of funny when you think about it like that." She said to Harry, who just shook his head in wonderment. "So," she continued, her tone going business-like, "What isn't just Rosier? Has something happened?"

"Harry was just about to tell us." Neville informed her. "We were talking about why he's training so fanatically."

Hermione looked, somewhat to Harry's irritation, as if she had shared similar concerns to Neville. However, he put that to the back of his mind.

"It's because of Voldemort – please don't do that Ron. He's still alive."

Hermione shook her head sadly. "Oh Harry, you didn't believe all that rubbish last year did you? You know better than any of us that it was just an old enchantment on that diary."

"Yes, I know that. I also know that Sirius and Peter have been in Albania looking for him over the last year, and that Dumbledore knows he's still alive. I also know – " and here he hesitated, " – I know that I've been having visions of him."

There was silence. Hermione was gaping at him in astonishment, and Neville collapsed into a chair as if his legs would support him no longer. Ron swore faintly in disbelief.

"How?" Hermione's question broke the silence. Harry shrugged in response.

"No idea. I've got a bit of his magic in me, so I guess being linked to his mind isn't out of the question."

He filled them in on the details of his vision. Neville didn't look impressed at being kept in the dark about Caradoc Dearborn's reappearance – it wasn't just the Potters that he had betrayed after all – but he didn't say anything. Silence followed his tale as they tried to absorb the details.

"So that's why you've been training so hard?" Ron asked, his voice trembling. Harry nodded.

Ron looked thoughtful for a moment. "Can we join in?"

* * *

Remus had happily agreed to give his friends a few pointers, and now generally left Harry to practice in private with a list of spells and a target. Having his friends training as well was actually making him train harder, even unsupervised; there was now a competitive edge to it, particularly against Hermione. His friend could learn spells at a frightening rate, at least to a basic level. At least it was a distraction from her constant work, and now she had dropped a subject she seemed far happier. They had also persuaded her to stop studying for Muggle Studies, on the basis that she knew the subject better than the teacher anyway. It was remarkable what a few nights decent sleep and some decent distractions could do for her temperament.

A week after starting lessons with Remus, Hermione was badgering Harry to teach her some of the more advanced spells that he had learnt – particularly the Patronus Charm. Harry had refused that, claiming that he couldn't teach her something so advanced without permission from Remus, but had agreed to train with her. They were surprisingly well matched; Hermione couldn't match him in terms of raw power or speed, but she was far more precise and simply knew more spells than he did. However, his previous experience, such as it was, generally served him well, helping to him victory in the majority of their training sessions.

They had just finished a duel, and Hermione picked herself up with a grunt of pain. She pulled her sleeve up, examining the livid bruise on her arm, and glowered at Harry. He shrugged, and pulled a mock-apologetic face in response. Bruises were the least you had to expect from a training session.

"That hurt Harry!"

"Don't get hit then…"

In the corner, Ron snorted in amusement. He, Neville and Ginny were all watching, although they declined to take part. In Ron's own words, they were 'too bloody scared' of Harry. Hermione turned her wrathful gaze to Ron momentarily, before slumping her shoulders.

"You're just too fast! You're almost as bad as Professor Lupin, and he's unnaturally quick."

Harry laughed loudly, too loudly, in an attempt move the subject off Remus, but Hermione's eyes were bright with curiosity.

"I'm right aren't I?" Her question drew puzzled glances from the three watching, and a resigned sigh from Harry, who ran his hand through his sweat-drenched hair, trying to buy time. It was clearly of no use though. When Hermione had a question, she would make sure that it was answered, whatever the method or consequences. So, finally, he nodded.

"Yes. He is."

Hermione's reaction was not what he had expected. Instead of freaking out, or showing great excitement about the presence of a werewolf to study, she merely nodded in satisfaction. And it wasn't the satisfaction of a potential enemy finding out something valuable, merely the satisfaction of a diehard academic pleased with their own intelligence. In that moment, Harry realised that he had badly underestimated his friend, and he felt a sharp pang of guilt.

"He is what? What the hell are you talking about?" Ron broke in, his tone bewildered and his eyes flitting between Harry and Hermione swiftly. Harry grimaced. That rather suggested that Ron at least was clueless about Remus's true nature. Oh well, nothing for it.

"He's a werewolf."

In the resulting silence, you could have heard a pin drop. Both Weasley's looked simply gobsmacked, not to say nervous. Neville looked a little shocked, but he also seemed to be considering something, and after a moment he nodded.

"That would explain a lot actually. Why he's ill so often, that kind of thing."

Harry nodded his agreement gratefully, thankful for his friends acceptance, but Ron did not seem to be taking it so well.

"He's a _werewolf_? And Dumbledore lets him _teach _here?"

Ginny took a hasty step away from her brother as Harry looked at him coldly. "Yes Ron, he does. Why wouldn't he?"

"Harry, don't get me wrong, I like Remus, but werewolves are dangerous – they're Dark creatures!"

There was a brief pause, punctuated only by Ginny's muttered "Oh shit…" and a look of horror dawning on Ron's face as he realised what he had just said and to whom. Then Harry's magic, already coiled up from the duel, whipped out of him in his anger. The window iced over, and the desk Neville had been sitting on flew backwards, hitting the wall with a dull thud.

Ron took a step back, for the first time in his life afraid of his friend. Harry countered him, stepping forward, his eyes dark and cold. When he spoke, it was in tones of icy, angry sarcasm.

"And everything the Ministry classifies as 'Dark' is evil, I suppose?"

"Well…" Ron stammered, almost unable to meet Harry's eyes, "Not – not all of them, obviously. But _werewolves_…"

"Remus was bitten before he came to Hogwarts. Dumbledore let him study here, my parents befriended him, they fought alongside him in the war – when most people would have killed him on sight just for being a werewolf – and now Dumbledore's letting him teach here. Do you seriously think that any of that would have happened if he was _dangerous_?"

"No, I don't – but Harry, everyone knows about werewolves, they can't help being dangerous, they aren't in control!"

That gave Harry pause. At least Ron didn't see Remus as evil. A small part of him recognised that he was overstepping the line, that he was over-reacting, but he pressed on anyway.

"Remus is in control Ron. He takes Wolfsbane Potion, it helps – "

"Oh, who brews it? I've heard it's incredibly complex!"

Harry broke off and stared at Hermione incredulously. She blushed. "Well, it is…" Harry shook his head in disbelief, and looked back at Ron, who seemed to have recovered some of his composure.

"Look mate, it's not like I've got a problem with Remus – hell, I don't have a problem with werewolves particularly; it's just a little weird, you've got to admit that. I'm sorry about the whole Dark thing, but you know, Light traditional family. And I didn't know about the potion."

"Maybe, but it's a bit of a lack of trust isn't it? How long have you known him Ron?"

Ron – perhaps unwisely – rolled his eyes, letting a bit of exasperation show through. "Harry, if I found out that _you_ had some kind of freaky secret I'd react the same way at first."

Harry smiled a darkly mischievous smile. "Really?" He slowly raised his wand, pointing carelessly to his side. "_Serpensortia!_"

A small grass snake shimmered into existence, falling to the floor from the tip of his wand with an aggravated hiss. His friends, with the exception of Ginny, took a step back in surprise. The snake raised its head, examining the room, its tongue flickering as it tasted the air. And Harry opened his mouth.

"_Hello there. My name is Harry."_

The snake hissed its reply in frankly unnatural terms that made Harry glad his friends couldn't understand it. He bantered back and forth with it for a few minutes, stroking it and lifting it around his neck. Only then did he look at his friends. Ginny looked interested, but this was tinged with boredom; of course, she had already heard him do this, when they left the Chamber. The other three though… their expression made Harry wish for a camera to capture the moment forever. It was priceless. Typically, Hermione was the first to speak.

"Harry, that's incredible! Where did you learn to speak it? How long have you been able to do it? What did it say?"

Harry chuckled lightly under the barrage of questions. "I've known I could speak it since last year, but I think I've been able to for much longer. It's how I was able to get in and out of the Chamber to get Ginny."

This last comment seemed to halt Ron and Neville. Harry supposed they would find it hard to pass judgement on him after using the supposedly Dark ability to rescue Ginny. However, he looked at them pointedly. "Well? Am I Dark?"

"No, of course you aren't Harry, but that wasn't what Ron was saying." Ginny interjected with a touch of anger. "It's just weird; none of us care about Remus, we know we can trust him – same goes for you. Why don't you get off our backs about it?"

Harry opened his mouth to retort, and then closed it with a sigh. His anger had died away, almost as abruptly as it had arrived. He wasn't even sure why he had been so violently angry. "I know; I'm sorry guys, I just get protective. He had enough trouble with Snape last term." At their quizzical expressions, he elaborated. "Why do you think Snape taught us about werewolves? So that someone would recognise Remus for what he is and report him. He'd have lost his job at the very least, and he might even have been removed as my guardian."

"That greasy little git!" Ron's fury brought a smile to Harry's face. This was why they were friends. They might argue, or question each other's judgement, but they both knew that those were just little details, that in the grand scheme of things they didn't really matter; they always had each other's back.

By the time they left the training room a short while later, it was clear that Harry's over-reaction had been forgiven. Not forgotten, but understood and carefully brushed away. However, before he walked out, Harry spent a quick moment examining the window he had frozen. Despite the early summer heat and sun, and despite the time that had passed since he had lashed out, the ice was still thick and incredibly cold. For the first time in a few weeks, Harry pondered his mental guest. Could he have had something to do with it? The ice was a definite link, and someone whose emotional spectrum seemed only to go from irritation to anger could probably influence his own emotions for the worse.

Something to consider.

* * *

It was a week later, nearly halfway through the term. Exams were beginning to roll around, and Harry was in the library, frantically looking for anything that might teach him something useful about Divination. It was hard going; most of the books would have been rejected by a Muggle 'psychic', let alone a serious Wizarding academic.

"Stupid subject anyway…" Harry muttered to himself as he rummaged through the shelves. A noise made him look up. There was no-one in the aisle with him. He went to the end, and looked both ways. Again, he was the only one there. It was the same story at the other end of the aisle. He wasn't surprised. The quiet of this part of the library had tempted him to set up his personal revision space there. No-one came to the library for books on Divination. So where had the noise come from? It had sounded like someone muttering to themselves. He supposed it could just have been an echo of his own voice, but he hadn't been speaking that loudly. Besides, there had been something unnatural about the voice.

For a moment, he remembered the strange voice he had heard several times throughout the previous year, and bent his ear to the wall. After a moment, he pulled away, feeling ridiculous. It must have been his imagination. In a school like Hogwarts, paranoia was a healthy survival tactic, but there were limits. He went back to the books, but only five minutes had passed before he heard the noise again. It was definitely a voice this time, a woman by the sound of it.

"Got to find… hear tell him…him understand show… warn him."

It was harsh, croaky, as if the speaker had an extremely sore throat, or a severe smoking habit. He moved cautiously in the direction it had come from, deeper into the Divination section. As he passed the aisles, he looked up and down them carefully. He moved more slowly as he reached the far end, and the voice became louder.

"Got to find… hear tell him…him understand show him… warn him convince him."

He drew his wand, shining a light from the tip. It didn't do much except make the shadows move.

"Got to find him make him hear tell him the truth him explain make him understand show the danger warn him convince him."

It sounded as if the speaker was more than a little crazed. He took a deep breath, and then moved into the aisle quickly. What he saw brought him up short. Professor Trelawney was sprawled there, twitching gently to herself and muttering the bizarre message over and over again. Her long, straggly hair was blowing softly as if in some private breeze, and her eyes were scrunched up tight, like a child pretending that something wasn't happening.

"Professor? Professor Trelawney? Are you alright?" Harry crept forward tentatively. His foot brushed her cloak. Suddenly, her twitching hand whipped out, gripping his ankle. Her eyes shot open, and Harry only just repressed a cry of horror. Her eyes had turned completely silver. It looked horribly like someone had carved out her eyeballs and replaced them with solid balls of silver. They seemed to glow from within, getting brighter and brighter.

"Don't like it makes me hurt makes me forget makes me mad makes me sad make it stop don't like it got to find him got to find him tell him the truth warn him got to find him."

"Professor, what's wrong?"

At the sound of his voice Trelawney's back arched and she bend almost double, her mouth gaping open in a silent scream. And then her other hand grabbed his neck, forcing their gazes level.

"_The brightest night heralds the darkness of treachery; _

_The Marked ones will join the long hidden eye in a storm of power. _

_After life, there is only blood, loyalty, and death_

_And the Dark Lord shall rise again."_

With a final gasp, she fell backwards to the floor. Harry stared at her motionless body, stunned beyond comprehension. She opened her eyes again, and they were normal. She blinked at him sleepily.

"Hello dear. Are you alright? Oh my… I must have tripped, how careless of me!" She stood up, wincing in pain slightly, and nodded to him absently. "I was looking for someone – or was it something. I really can't remember. Do you think I found it Mr Potter?"

"Yes… Yes, I think so." Harry told her flatly. She smiled.

"Excellent! Good day Mr Potter!" With that, she wandered off absently.

Harry stared after her, the prophecy – for what else could it have been? – ringing in his ears.

And then he ran.

* * *

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	19. The Shrieking Shack

**Chapter 17: The Shrieking Shack**

Harry burst through the door of Dumbledore's office without bothering to knock. At the rapid entry, Dumbledore jumped guiltily in his seat, pushing the bag of lemon drops away hastily. His expression cleared when he realised who it was.

"Harry! To what do I owe this somewhat abrupt visit?"

Harry strode forward, not acknowledging the mild rebuke or apologising. "It's Professor Trelawney sir, she just made a prophecy!"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrow sceptically. "Harry, Professor Trelawney is hardly the most reliable person in the world. She hasn't made an accurate prediction in nearly fifteen years."

"She doesn't freak out with her other predictions though." Harry responded. Dumbledore went very still, his expression grave.

"'Freak out'? What precisely do you mean?"

"She collapsed on the floor, and she was twitching – like she was having a fit or something. And her eyes went silver, and her voice was weird, kind of croaky."

"I see." Dumbledore spoke softly, his voice sombre. "What did she say to you?"

Harry hesitated, trying to recall precisely what had been said. "She said – something about treachery, erm… 'The Marked ones shall join the eye in a storm of power', something like that. She said that…" he swallowed, fighting a rising panic, "She said that 'The Dark Lord will rise again.'"

Dumbledore closed his eyes, and rested his head back on his chair. In the corner, Fawkes began to hum quietly, a beautiful sound that seemed to fight the panic in Harry's veins, warming him and filling his head with good cheer, relaxing him. Only when Harry was fully calm did Dumbledore start to speak.

"From what you've described Harry, it certainly sounds as if it was a genuine prophecy. Quite fascinating really, that brings her total to two. Perhaps I should consider a reward of some kind, what do you think?" He flashed a smile at Harry, but it didn't reach his eyes; Harry wasn't fooled.

"So you think it will really happen then? Voldemort's coming back?"

"Who knows? It is possible certainly; we know he is still alive, and that at least two of his servants are running wild. But prophecies are not written in stone Harry. Just because Professor Trelawney – or anyone else – predicts something does not mean that it will come to pass."

"Is it _likely_ though?"

Dumbledore stared at Harry intently for a moment. "Her last prophecy was fulfilled. At least, it seemed to have been… recent events suggest that may have been a premature conclusion though."

"What did she predict?" Harry asked, his curiosity aroused. Dumbledore's eyes shifted, almost imperceptibly, so that he wasn't quite looking Harry in the eye any more.

"Oh, nothing important. Can you remember any more of what she said Harry?"

For a moment, Harry contemplated demanding to know what Dumbledore was keeping from him, but he decided that there were more important things to consider at present. He concentrated, bringing to mind everything she had said to him. "She said – she said:

'_The brightest night heralds the darkness of treachery; _

_The Marked ones will join the long hidden eye in a storm of power. _

_After life, there is only blood, loyalty, and death_

_And the Dark Lord shall rise again._"

Dumbledore nodded slowly to himself. "Well, the final line at least is clear enough. As for the rest… The long hidden eye – that could refer to Caradoc Dearborn; a spy who has remained hidden for several years. Yes… that would fit. The Marked ones most likely refers to Death Eaters, although the plural is worrying; Rosier could be gathering allies. The third line is puzzling though… 'After life, there is only blood, loyalty and death'. Death makes sense, but blood and loyalty?"

Harry was beginning to feel as if Dumbledore had forgotten he was there, and cleared his throat gently. Dumbledore looked up.

"I shall have to consider this carefully Harry. In the meantime, I urge you to consider more pressing concerns. We cannot say when this 'brightest night' is, assuming that anything happens at all. Leave it to us. Steps will be taken, I assure you."

"Professor, I want to know what's going to happen!"

"And you will – if your guardians see fit to inform you. You are thirteen years old Harry; it is one thing to learn to defend yourself, but quite another to actively seek out violence."

Harry opened his mouth to respond angrily, but Dumbledore quelled him with a stern gaze. He looked away sullenly. "Yes sir."

"Good. Now, if you don't mind Harry, I would like to view the prophecy for myself – it's best to have a record that we can access without troubling the Department of Mysteries."

"What have they got to do with prophecies sir?"

"Whenever a prophecy is made, it is automatically recorded in the Hall of Prophecy in the Department of Mysteries – much like the register that records every magical birth in Britain." Dumbledore explained, with a nod to the ornate leather bound tome in one of the cupboards of the office. "However, only the people the prophecy concerns can access them, so a Pensieve memory is a more convenient method in my view."

Harry nodded, leaning forward. Once again, the feeling of someone fishing inside his skull unnerved him, but it was over almost instantly, a marked difference to the previous occasion, when the sensation had lasted for nearly a minute. He commented on the change to Dumbledore.

"This was a more recent memory" was all Dumbledore said, in somewhat distracted tones, as he deposited the strand of silvery vapour into the Pensieve. Harry waited impatiently as the headmaster lowered himself into the memory, anxious to discover what Dumbledore was going to do about the prophecy. When he reappeared, Dumbledore looked weary, and more than a little shocked.

"A painful story to tell…"

To Harry's eyes, Dumbledore seemed to just be staring into space. He shifted in his seat, trying to attract the headmaster's attention, and Dumbledore looked up at him abruptly, fixing him with a piercing gaze. Harry sat intently still, barely breathing. All of a sudden, Dumbledore stood up.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention Harry. However, I fear I must discuss this with others now." He tapped the Pensieve with his wand, and it shrunk dramatically. He scooped it up, placing it inside his robes, and walked to the door of his office, opening it and gesturing for Harry to leave. Harry stared at him indignantly.

"Professor, I want to know what's happening!"

"And as I said, if it should become necessary that you learn, you will be told. However, for your own safety I am unwilling to tell you anything you don't absolutely need to know."

Harry stared at him, his eyes darkening almost imperceptibly. Then he jerked his head curtly, in what might charitably have been called an accepting nod. "Fine. Good bye _sir_."

He stalked from the office in silence, not looking at the headmaster. Dumbledore watched him leave intently, and finally expelled the breath he had taken once he heard the gargoyle slide into position. He strode to the fireplace, throwing some powder in and stepping through in one motion.

* * *

Remus wiped the residue of the memory strand from his face carefully, still mulling over what Dumbledore had shown him. It was worrying, to say the least.

"How long do you think we have?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "It's another two weeks until the next full moon, but we have no way of knowing if it will happen then or some other time."

"You're sure that's what 'brightest night refers to?"

"It's a common description, yes. And Rosier and Caradoc both know that you're a werewolf; choosing the full moon to act would ensure that you at least were out of action."

Remus nodded grimly, upset that he might not be able to help his ward. "What about this 'storm of power'? What do you think that means?"

Dumbledore looked at him questioningly. "Remus, surely you've noticed the changes in Harry's magic? He's been slowly gaining power for awhile now."

"Yes, I know that, but it hasn't been anything astonishing. Certainly not storm-like."

"Emotional stress seems to bring his power out – an attack by Death Eaters might have a dangerous effect on him. It's possible that the prophecy is indicating the total decay of the block on his magic; all that power unleashed in one go would certainly qualify as a storm, wouldn't you say?"

Remus acknowledged the point with a grimace. He wasn't as sensitive to magical fluctuations as Dumbledore, but he knew that Harry had a staggering amount of power locked away inside him. He didn't want to know what would happen if all that power was released in one burst.

"I'll get hold of Sirius and Peter, drag them out here."

"I agree, we can't be too careful. I only hope we can find Rosier before anything happens…"

"Don't worry Albus; we'll be fine." Remus tried to sound cheerful, but it was difficult. Dumbledore turned to him.

"Regrettably Remus, Sybill does have good form with prophecies regarding Voldemort. We can't take any chances."

Remus absorbed this in silence, his expression grim.

"We'll stop it Albus. We have to."

* * *

Harry slammed his book shut with a loud thud. He had his Transfiguration exam in the morning, and he was beginning to wish he'd paid more attention to the theory behind everything. He knew that he would have no problem with the practical part, but explaining how everything worked was a little beyond him. Feeling slightly bitter, he glowered across at Hermione, who was going through her notes one final time. If he didn't know better, he would have said she was absorbing it all via osmosis.

To make matters worse, he had an incredibly painful headache. Fortunately, it wasn't one of the headaches that tended to signify an outburst of magic. He didn't need that during exams. Actually, he hadn't had one of those headaches for awhile, despite his magic occasionally snapping out of control. Presumably a sign that his situation was improving. No, the headache seemed to be nothing more than an ordinary migraine – albeit one that made him feel like someone was trying to tear his head open.

He gave up. He wasn't learning anything, and he needed sleep. Saying his goodbyes to the rest of the group, he wandered up to the dormitory. He undressed, not bothering to hang anything up, and threw himself onto his bed gratefully. Despite his headache, he was asleep almost instantly.

And he dreamed…

_He was back in the cave, the walls damp and slimy. Something glistened invitingly in the darkness to the back, but he couldn't see it properly. He was looking at the tall, awfully thin man kneeling in front of him. He was fairly handsome, despite the unhealthy appearance, and his eyes glittered with madness._

_Evan Rosier._

_Harry spoke, in a voice that was not his._

"_My dear Evan – my most faithful servant; my friend."_

_At his words, Rosier bowed his head, and a shiver of excitement ran through his body. "My Lord, to see you again – it is everything I ever dared to dream! Tell me how I can serve you Master!"_

_Harry chuckled softly._

"_Did our mutual friend pass on my instructions?"_

"_Yes my Lord. The twins have returned to your service – willingly, might I add – and I have visited another of your deep cover servants; he has also returned to the fold, with much useful information."_

"_You speak in riddles Evan. We do not have the time for such eccentricities…" Harry allowed a measure of anger to seep into his voice, and Rosier cowered, just a little._

"_My Lord, I dare not speak too openly. Our mutual friend informs me that the boy has received visions of this cave - he has… He has seen through your eyes Master."_

"_Explain."_

_Rosier winced, as if in anticipation of some injury. Harry didn't blame him. The voice – Voldemort – might sound calm, but it was deceptive. "He told me that the boy had a vision of your last meeting, that he somehow enters your mind and looks out. As far as I am aware, he cannot control this ability though."_

"_I see… Well, it isn't going to matter for much longer, is it? Potter will be dead within weeks."_

"_You have a plan my Lord? I beg you, allow me to retrieve the boy!" Rosier's face was alight with eager anticipation, giving him an eerily child-like look._

"_I had already planned to send you Evan. The twins can provide back-up for you and our mutual friend, while your other recruit can join me here. Once I have returned, then my body can be restored – "_

Harry jerked awake as pain surged through his head. He pressed his hands to his head, cringing, and was just about to let out a scream when the pain disappeared completely. He frowned in confusion, rubbing the sweat from his brow as he looked around him.

"What the hell…" he muttered to himself. It was late. His room mates were all fast asleep, and he could hear Seamus talking about something as he dreamed. It sounded like Transfiguration theory.

_You know, it's really annoying when you dream like that Harry. You aren't the only one in here you know, and speaking as someone with a more intimate connection to your magic than you, it's painful._

Harry groaned in frustration. This was precisely what he didn't need.

_Well, I'm very sorry to disappoint you._

"Look, I've got an exam in six hours. I want to sleep, not argue with you."

_Well, it's the highlight of my life, I assure you. You could at least thank me for waking you up; you certainly weren't enjoying that, were you?_

Harry shrugged, unwilling to admit that the voice was right. The chuckle that echoed round his head suggested that the voice was fully aware of his feelings on the matter however.

"What did you mean, 'it's painful'?"

_When you've had these dreams – or visions, or whatever they are – your magic starts to surge. Starts to burn. No idea why, but personally speaking, I don't like it. So I woke you up. You're welcome, by the way. _

"Yes, all right. Thank you, very kind of you." Harry responded in irritation, rolling his eyes. He received a feeling of immense smugness in return. Doing his best to ignore it, he slumped back onto his pillow, pondering the vision he had received. _"I can be restored…" _That was ominous. More ominous, in Harry's view, than Voldemort's declaration that he would be dead within weeks. Not that he didn't feel a certain amount of concern, of course, but Voldemort had tried before and failed. And by the sounds of it, he couldn't do anything without the aid of his Death Eaters, so he clearly wasn't a significant threat just at present. Since Dumbledore and the Marauders – and the Aurors, although he valued their assistance somewhat less than that of his guardians – were looking for Rosier, there wasn't a lot more he could do, besides alert them to what he had seen. He wouldn't mind finding out who the twins were though, or the other spy. Of course, whether they would be willing to tell him was another matter entirely…

He scowled to himself, and turned over, trying to focus on getting back to sleep. It was harder than he would have liked. The anticipation of an imminent confrontation with Rosier and who knew who else kept his brain ticking over, conjuring different scenarios in his mind's eye. None of them were particularly cheerful. At least it was only Transfiguration he had to be awake for. He'd have to be in a coma to fail that one, however shaky his grasp of theory was.

_Arrogance. I like that in you._

"Will you just let me sleep!" Harry responded, through gritted teeth. The voice remained mercifully silent, but it was still nearly an hour before Harry managed to drift off.

* * *

After his exam – which went surprisingly well, given his lack of sleep – Harry wandered up to Dumbledore's office, with the intent of telling him about his latest vision. The headmaster was absent, although the office had opened to him, apparently at a trill from Fawkes – which was somewhat surprising. Harry had contented himself by leaving a note with a detailed description of the vision, and had left for lunch.

It was a little startling for him to see a note appear on his plate halfway through his steak and kidney pudding, but he had seen far stranger things in his lifetime. The note was infuriatingly brief, merely asking him to stop by to allow Dumbledore to view the memory later on. Of course, the sudden revelation of another vision caused some consternation amongst his friends, particularly given Voldemort's claim that Harry would soon be dead, and so it was with a surprising sense of relief that Harry once again climbed the grand staircase to Dumbledore's office that evening.

The Headmaster eyed Harry gravely as he sat down in silence. After a moment, he sighed.

"I must admit Harry, I had rather hoped that your vision was a one-off occurrence. We shall have to look into this a little more closely I fear."

Harry grimaced slightly. More tests; fantastic.

"However, I think that it can wait until a more convenient period; we can't have these things overshadowing your studies can we?"

_Well no, that would never do would it? It isn't like anything else might do that – say, the threat of my imminent death, the prophecy, and Rosier coming back here? _Harry thought to himself. However, he didn't say this out loud, merely nodding at Dumbledore. A slight twitch of the Headmaster's lips suggested that he had an inkling of Harry's true thoughts though. His expression turned serious again swiftly.

"That does of course apply to other things Harry. I know that what you saw must have been… intimidating, but I assure you, you are perfectly safe, both within this castle and within your home. Voldemort cannot touch you Harry."

Harry shrugged. "To be honest with you sir, I'm not all that worried about Voldemort at the moment. From what I've seen, he doesn't even have a body at the moment, so I don't think he'd be able to do anything to me even if he did show up. Rosier and whoever else he's recruited might be a problem – " and here Harry touched his chest, almost without thought, in the spot where Rosier had cut him open " – but there isn't a lot I can do about that until he does show up is there?"

Dumbledore smiled grimly. "No, I suppose not."

They both sat in silence for a moment, before Harry spoke again.

"Who _has_ Rosier recruited sir? If it's ok for me to know…"

Dumbledore chose to ignore Harry's barb. "Well, the twins they refer to are probably the Carrows. They were never caught after the last war. I take it you've heard of them?"

Harry nodded, a little shiver of fear running up his spine. The Carrows had earned a fearsome reputation, going after defenceless Muggles with vicious enthusiasm. That said, they had never particularly revelled in torture, unlike Rosier and his ilk. They had much preferred quantity to anything else.

"Obviously, this 'deep cover servant' remains a mystery; I've alerted a few old friends, and they are keeping an eye on some of the more obvious suspects, but we are limited in what we can do."

"I'd like to know that as well. I hadn't realised he had so many spies."

"Oh yes, he probably had dozens. The vision actually reveals the existence of a third at least."

Harry frowned in confusion. Caradoc Dearborn was one, the one mentioned in his vision… who was Dumbledore talking about?

"Rosier knew about your visions Harry. There are very few people outside this room who know about them, and I would trust every one of them with my life. That suggests that someone in this school is a spy – and more to the point, an exceptionally skilled spy. I trust I don't need to remind you to be on your guard?"

"I'd missed that… Who else knows, besides Sirius and the others? The only people I've told are my friends, and that was in private."

"Professor Snape knows – he is the most skilled Legilimens I know Harry, I needed his advice on this matter. I know you don't like him, but he is trustworthy."

Harry glowered slightly, but didn't press the issue. He knew that Snape was trustworthy really, but didn't like the idea of him knowing such intimate details about his life – particularly given how the potions master seemed to treat damaging secrets.

"Don't worry Harry, we will find them. Now that we know of their existence, it shouldn't be too long before we root them out."

Harry couldn't help feeling a little sceptical about that.

* * *

It was the night of the full moon, which also happened to be the day of the last exam, Potions. It had gone better than Harry had expected, although he was sure he wouldn't be getting a brilliant mark, for a whole variety of reasons. Overall though, he felt everything had gone well, despite the myriad distractions hanging over him.

There had been no sign of Rosier, or any other Death Eater. As far as Harry could see, Dumbledore's promised steps consisted solely of getting Peter and Sirius to come to Hogwarts, which wasn't terribly impressive. Of course, he had to assume that there were measures in place that he wasn't aware of; things that it had not been deemed necessary for him to know.

It wasn't even as if he had been able to spend any large amount of time with the Marauders. While he saw Remus for revision lessons and duelling practice every now and again, Sirius and Peter remained infuriatingly out of contact, patrolling the school all evening and spending the days asleep. He hadn't actually spoken to Sirius since before Easter! He was beginning to feel extremely guilty, and he almost felt that he could forgive Sirius for his actions against Snape – although only almost.

After dinner, Harry wandered up to Remus's office to check everything was going to be ok for his transformation. The Marauder looked up as Harry walked in – he looked weary, fragile, as if he was trying not to aggravate a recent wound. Harry hated seeing how the transformation took its toll on Remus, even before it technically started. Remus smiled in greeting.

"Hello there pup. Potions go ok?"

Harry shrugged. "About as well as can be expected – don't worry, I did everything I could."

Remus grinned as Harry pre-empted his question. "Well, that's all that matters isn't it? Any plans for your week of leisure?"

"I think Quidditch will figure strongly, as will sleep. Other than that, not really."

"Ha, I remember doing exactly the same thing when I was your age. Well, not so much Quidditch, but the sleeping definitely. Out of curiosity – and strictly between us of course – how many all-nighters have you pulled this year?"

Harry pretended not to have heard, which was answer enough, and Remus chuckled softly.

"I was hoping to get to see Sirius and Peter, I haven't even spoken to them for weeks!" Harry admitted. Remus nodded.

"I'm not sure where Peter is at the minute, Dumbledore had him doing something, but Sirius had to go on an errand. He should be back shortly though. In fact," and here Remus took a deep breath, smelling the air, "he should be here any minute now."

Harry blinked, confused, but all was made clear when Sirius came in through the door. Remus had obviously smelt him from down the corridor. Sirius's eyes lit up at the sight of Harry, a delighted grin spreading across his face, and he pulled Harry into a bone-crushing hug, which Harry returned with glee.

"Hey there kiddo! Long time no speak! How've you been? Exams gone ok?"

"Yeah, not too bad. Defence was easy, I think the teacher might have been a little soft on me." Harry responded, with a sly glance at Remus. Sirius sniggered as Remus affected a hurt expression.

"Actually Harry, I prefer to think of it as you learning a lot from my incredible teaching."

Harry pretended to think for a moment. "Yeah, it could be that I guess, but I think my theory is better."

Remus threw a scrunched up ball of parchment at him in response. He took a deep breath as a spasm of pain came over him, an early warning sign of the transformation. He frowned as it passed, and sniffed again. Neither Harry nor Sirius noticed, too busy catching up on things.

"Good to know things have gone well. Now, Harry, I've got a little proposition for you. A little bonding trip for us, make up for not seeing you recently. How about it?"

Harry grinned, but before he could say anything, Remus interjected. "I'm not sure that's a good idea Sirius. Security, you know?"

Harry frowned in disappointment, but Sirius just waved his arm dismissively. "I've already cleared it with Dumbledore, and we aren't going far. Don't be such a spoilsport! We'll be fine, won't we?"

"Of course! Come on Remus, chill out. What's the worst that could happen?"

Remus folded his arms, disapproval, and something else Harry couldn't identify on his face. "Sirius, could I have a quick word with you? Alone?"

Sirius rolled his eyes playfully, and slapped Harry on the back. "Go on Harry, go grab your Cloak, and I'll meet you in the hall in half an hour. Wrap up warm!"

Harry slipped out of the office quietly, hoping that they weren't going to argue. As he walked away, he heard the door lock behind him.

* * *

Half an hour later, Harry was pacing in front of the hourglasses that kept track of the housepoints, waiting for Sirius's arrival. His Invisibility Cloak was concealed in his pocket, away from prying eyes. He heard his name being called, and Sirius bounded down the stairs, hurrying over to him with an excited laugh.

"Come on then, let's make a start! You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this Harry…"

Without waiting for Harry to respond, he set off towards the main doors, throwing them open and walking out into the twilight. Harry ran after him to keep up.

"Sirius, where are we actually going? Are we going to have to apparate?" he asked with a hint of distaste.

"Oh no, we aren't going that far. We're just going to have a look at some of our old stomping grounds. Very cool journey, but not one we can take before curfew." Sirius grinned, his excitement contagious. However, as they walked down the hill, past Hagrid's hut, Harry couldn't help but notice that Sirius was looking around him nervously. Maybe he wasn't quite as confident about the whole enterprise as he had claimed in front of Remus.

They walked past the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and the Whomping Willow loomed into view. Harry felt a stir of interest; he knew very well what significance the unusual tree had. He looked at Sirius, and his godfather gave him a gleeful look.

"Fancy a trip to the Shack?"

Harry just grinned.

They approached the tree carefully, taking care to stay out of reach of its branches. The willow seemed almost sentient – when they got to the edge of the safe boundary, it seemed to flex, as if lying in wait for an un-cautious visitor. Sirius reached out, clasping Harry's hand tightly, and raised his wand.

"Ready?"

Harry nodded. Sirius flicked his wand, sending a ball of light at the Whomping Willow. The tree froze, as if petrified, and Sirius charged forward, dragging Harry behind him. As they got closer, Harry spotted the hole at the base of the tree, and dived towards it, Sirius close behind. They landed on the floor of the tunnel with a thud, just as the tree began to move again. A branch slammed into the floor above them, shaking earth loose over them. Sirius laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I just haven't done that for a while… Shall we head on?"

Harry nodded, and they both lit their wands, the light casting eerie shadows on the earth around them. Sirius led the way in silence, and after a lengthy trek they were emerging into a hallway, inside the Shrieking Shack. The floor creaked, and it was covered in dust. By the front door, there were the marks of a violent full moon – the walk had been clawed viciously, and the wood was nearly ripped through. Harry shivered, a little scared by this lasting demonstration of Remus's strength. It was not something he was often aware of, given his guardian's deceptively frail frame.

"Harry!" Sirius was standing on the staircase, poised as if for action, an eager expression on his face. "Come on up here, there's something you should see."

Harry followed his godfather up the stairs, into the main bedroom. Sirius pointed at the far wall, where Harry could see something carved in. He walked in, and examined it carefully. It was obscured by dust and age, but he could still make out the inscription:

**Moony, Padfoot, Wormtail and Prongs**

**Marauders forever!**

Harry touched it carefully, a jolt of sadness running through him. He closed his eyes.

"Harry?"

He turned back to Sirius, opening his eyes – only to be hit in the chest by a spell. He hit the wall with a thud, and slumped to the floor, dazed. He looked up, his vision bleary, as Sirius flicked his wand again, and ropes appeared, wrapping around Harry so tightly they began to cut off the circulation in his arms.

"Sirius, what…?"

He broke off, watching in horror as Sirius pulled his sleeve back, and – with a vicious grin – pressed his wand to the ugly black tattoo burnt into his wrist.

A tattoo of a skull, with a snake poking out of its mouth like a tongue.

* * *

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	20. I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good

**Chapter 18: I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good**

_An hour and a half ago:_

Remus flicked his wand, locking the door behind Harry. Sirius jumped up on the desk, his arms folded, and a mock stern expression on his face.

"So, what am I doing wrong Moony? Breaking the rules?"

"It isn't that Sirius." Remus flicked his wand, placing Sirius in a body-bind. He walked over to him, sniffing him carefully. "I can smell him Sirius. I can smell Rosier on you." He moved his wand carefully, muttering under his breath, looking more and more confused as he proceeded. After a few minutes, he stepped back, looking warily at his old friend.

"Nothing. No spell, no enchantment, no potion…" He flicked his wand, releasing Sirius from the body-bind. Sirius slumped forward, rubbing his chest as if in pain. "I'm sorry Padfoot, but you reek of him, I had to check! You must have been inches away from him… Merlin, we need to tell Dumbledore!" Remus whirled round, moving to the door, but Sirius called after him.

"Remus, wait!" He stood up as Remus looked at him. "You were right, you had to check, but you missed one vital possibility."

Remus frowned, bemused. "What would that be?"

"That I might not need to be enchanted. _Expelliarmus!_"

Remus stared in shock as his wand jumped out of his hand, landing on the floor, too far for him to reach. Sirius sauntered forward, chuckling softly to himself, and cast a Silencing Charm.

"What's the matter Moony? Not sure what's going on? Well, let me make it abundantly clear to you. The person on the inside? That would be me. It always has been. Caradoc? That little prick couldn't do up his robes on his own, let alone sell out the Order. It was me all along."

"You… You betrayed…?"

"Oh yes."

Remus stared at him, dumbfounded, his world collapsing around him. He couldn't doubt him – it was too close to the full moon, he would have smelt it.

"You know, _Moony_, my only regret is that James and Lily died without knowing the truth. Real shame that, don't you think?"

With a snarl, Remus lunged forward, not even attempting to go for his wand. Sirius just laughed, and flicked his wand again. The desk soared across the room and slammed into Remus, smacking him to the floor and crushing him with its weight. He still fought on, trying to throw the desk off – an easy feat for one with werewolf strength. Before he could lift it though, Sirius was aiming his wand.

"_Sagitto Argentum!_"

Remus howled as two arrows of solid silver spiked into him, writhing in agony. Sirius walked over, and sat down on the desk, further crushing Remus.

"Oh stop whinging, it could be worse. I could have turned your blood silver…" Sirius remarked, in conversational tones. "You should be honoured Remus, I'm leaving you alive for the greatest come-back of the century."

Remus' eyes widened in shock.

"Yep, my Master returns to these shores. You'll get to meet him eventually, I'm sure. Harry's going to meet him a lot sooner of course. He's a fairly integral part of the process to be honest – hence our little bonding trip this evening. I'll give him your best, don't worry. He'll die knowing you were thinking of him. Now isn't that nice of me?"

Remus just struggled harder, hatred shining in his eyes. Sirius laughed once more, and stood up. With a wave of his arm, he conjured a silver stake, and took a firm grip on it.

"Now, are you going to be nice, or am I going to have to teach you another lesson?"

"Fuck you Sirius!" Remus spat defiantly.

Sirius shrugged. "If that's the way you want to play it…" He raised his arm, and slammed it down, ramming the stake into Remus' stomach. Remus screamed with pain, beginning to froth at the mouth from all the silver poisoning his body.

"It's been a pleasure Moony. See you around…"

Sirius strolled out of the office, locking the door and reinforcing the Silencing Charm. Taking a moment to straighten his appearance out, he checked his watch. He smiled. Nearly time to meet Harry.

* * *

_Now: _

The Dark Mark on Sirius' wrist flared a deeper black, as if it was burning, when Sirius pressed his wand into it. Harry could focus on nothing else, unable to cope with the magnitude of what he had just seen. He watched numbly as Sirius pulled up a chair and reversed it, straddling it with his arms folded on the back. Then emotion surged back to him.

"Who are you?" he asked through clenched teeth. Sirius looked at him curiously.

"It's me Harry. Sirius Black, your godfather. We have met you know…"

"No. You're not. You're an imposter. Who are you? Rosier? Dearborn – " he was cut off by Sirius barking with laughter.

"Oh, you're so sweet Harry. I assure you, I'm the genuine article. Caradoc Dearborn wouldn't have the brains or the balls to make a decent spy, he was never a traitor. He was a good little lapdog for Dumbledore, just like your father."

"Shut up." Harry breathed. Sirius smirked.

"Sorry, am I offending you?"

"What have you done with Sirius? Tell me!"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "I am Sirius Black. You live at number 4, Privet Drive, with your uncle Vernon, aunt Petunia, and cousin Dudley. Dudley's birthday is the XXXX, your aunt's is the 20th of February, your uncle's is the 14th of August. For your eighth birthday, you went to a theme park, and got so scared on a rollercoaster that your magic got loose and shorted it out. You were trapped at the top of a dip for forty minutes. Starting to sound familiar? First time you went on a broom, you fell off, ten feet to the ground. You cried like a baby – only fair really, you were only five – and swore you'd never fly again. Oh, and of course, I have that instantly recognisable Animagus form…"

There was a rush of air, and Sirius vanished, replaced by a large, black dog. It looked up at him, panting, its tongue lolling out. Harry stared at it, sickened. Of course he recognised the dog, and everything Sirius had told him. A tear trickled down his cheek, and Sirius changed back, grinning maliciously. Harry looked up.

"Why? You hate the Dark Arts, you hate everything Voldemort stands for!"

"Do I?" Sirius asked, returning to his seat.

"Yes! Ever since you were a kid, you hated your family!"

"Well, that's certainly true… you know Harry, until I arrived at Hogwarts, I'd never met all that many people outside the family circle. People like my parents – stupid, blind, arrogant _fools_. They didn't have the faintest idea what being dark truly means Harry. They were too concerned with petty little battles with the Ministry, with Wizarding superiority… That's not what it's about!

It's about power, about letting your magic run free. This school," he sneered, with a dismissive gesture towards Hogwarts, "it teaches you all about controlling your magic, keeping it under wraps… Dumbledore tells you it's about morality, about responsibility, but that is a lie! Light magic is a denial of what we are Harry – wizards are bound to this world in a way Muggles can never even dream of! We weren't made to control our magic! And Dumbledore, the Ministry, they would reduce magic to a _tool_. It's so much more than that, so much more… profound."

Sirius had by now risen from his seat and was pacing back and forth, the words spilling out of him, gesturing frantically, as if the speech had been dammed up inside him for a long-time, a boiling cauldron of seething emotion. Harry sat in silence, his head bowed, the words lashing into him.

"My parents… you were right Harry, I did hate them. I hated their small-mindedness, they way they restrained me. I didn't even know what I could be until I got here – I even thought I wanted to be a Light wizard, someone like that cow Umbridge, can you imagine that? And I met your father, and got sorted into Gryffindor, and it was only afterwards that I realised my view of the Dark Arts was horrendously skewed. People like Rosier, Yaxley… even Snape to an extent, greasy little shit that he is, they opened my eyes, showed me what I was capable of, showed me the beauty of unrestrained magic. Of course, by then it was a little too late for me to show my interest openly. I had to conceal it, pretend to be something I wasn't – again! Hogwarts was supposed to be an escape for me, and I found myself having to live in constant fear, just like at home. By my fifth year, I was having secret meetings with the people who became Death Eaters; they recruited me, showed me that the Dark Lord was the future of magic. A new world order."

"Some future." Harry snarled. He was beginning to feel sick, appalled at the way Sirius was speaking. He couldn't believe that his godfather, the man he loved and respected almost above all others, had lied to him about _everything_.

"Yes, well, you don't have quite the vision I hoped you would have Harry. Too much exposure to Remus and his moralising. Shame really, you could have been a powerful ally. When you didn't show outright disdain for the dark arts, I thought you could be educated appropriately, but I suppose it was too much to ask that you'd ever serve the Dark Lord."

"He killed my parents, of course I'm not going to follow him! What kind of person do you think I am?" Harry exclaimed, incredulous. Sirius shrugged.

"Who do you think told him where they lived? I was their Secret-Keeper Harry…"

Harry rocked backwards, stunned into silence for a moment. Then his rage boiled over. "You _bastard_. You utter _bastard_! I swear to Merlin Sirius – "

"What? You're going to kill me? I'd love to see you try pup." Sirius started to snigger.

"Don't call me that!"

"You aren't really in a position to make demands Harry. And you didn't put up a very good showing the last time we duelled."

"We've never duelled, what are you talking about?" Harry asked, confused.

"Never? Who do you think it was that you duelled in the Forest in your First year? It wasn't Caradoc, he's been safely locked away at Grimmauld Place ever since the war."

"That was you?"

"Yep. Quirrell showed up, wanted to make a deal. I thought he was a bloody madman, but it was a win-win arrangement. Either he was telling the truth, and we could bring back my Master, or he was crazy, and I could kill him and take the Stone for myself. Then you interfered, putting a spanner in the works. Didn't have any choice, you needed to be removed. I would have done it too if you hadn't thrown that little crazy fit. Care to explain that?"

"I'm not going to tell you anything!" Harry began to struggle, trying to break the ropes, but they were too strong. Sirius shrugged.

"Doesn't really matter I guess. You're going to be dead by this time tomorrow anyway. Besides, you don't hate me enough to kill me yet."

"Trust me, I couldn't hate you anymore than I already do." Harry spat, tensing his arms.

"Really? So you know that it was me last year?"

Harry froze. "What?"

"I knew that the Ministry were trying to get a look at some of my family's artefacts, and frankly that diary was a liability. It gave me a good chance to discredit that odious little fraud Lockhart as well. Of course, I didn't know it would have quite the effect that it did, but hey, every little helps right?"

"That diary nearly killed Ginny. It made her do – horrible things. And you think that's funny!" Harry responded, his voice rising to an accusing shout.

"Pretty funny, yes. And it just proved that you were irredeemable, interfering again. It would have been better for you if you had died down there Harry. Too stubborn for your own good, that's your trouble."

"Fuck you." Harry's voice was icy calm, controlled. He had passed beyond the white hot rage now, had reached a point beyond emotion. He was simply filled with crystal clarity; the knowledge that the man in front of him had to die. "Fuck you Sirius. I swear, I am going to destroy you for what you've done to me, what you've done to my friends. I promise you, you'll wish that I had died in the Chamber."

"I doubt that very much. Better duellists than you have tried – Rosier for one, when he still thought I was a traitor. Funny really; the Dark Lord's most loyal servant nearly killed the one person who could help him restore his Master."

* * *

_Two months ago:_

"Harry, run. Go and get Dumbledore."

"Sirius –"

"Just go!"

Sirius watched Rosier carefully as Harry ran off. The Death Eater snarled, flinging a nasty hex at him, but Sirius deflected it casually, destroying a suit of armour by the wall.

"Rosier, listen to me – "

"I'm not interested in anything you have to say! You're going to die a traitor's death, screaming!"

Another curse, which ate through Sirius' shield, shattering the bones in his arm. He stumbled with a cry of pain, but kept his wand up.

"Rosier, if you kill me then you'll never find him! I've seen him, found his hideaway in Albania! You can't bring him back without me Rosier!"

The Death Eater stopped, watching Sirius carefully. "What do you mean? You betrayed our Master Black, what are you trying to pull?"

"I swear, I had no idea that would happen! As far as I was concerned, every last one of the Potters would die, and our Master would be triumphant. I don't know what happened that night, no one does, not even Dumbledore, but it wasn't planned."

Rosier stared at him in silence, and then after a moment, holstered his wand.

"Maybe I'm as crazy as everyone says I am, but I believe you. Where can I find him?"

"Not now, Dumbledore could be here any moment. Meet me in the Shrieking Shack tomorrow night, we'll talk then."

Rosier nodded, then drew his wand again. "Better make this look convincing…"

He fired off another curse, and Sirius braced himself. The curse tore into his chest, making blood pour out of him, and he sank to the floor, biting back a scream. Rosier grinned.

"Until tomorrow then…"

* * *

_Now:_

Sirius pulled a pocket watch from his robes, and examined it. He smiled in satisfaction, and replaced it.

"Now Harry, do behave. We're going to have some important guests arriving in a few minutes, and you want to make a good impression don't you?"

Harry said nothing for a moment, thinking carefully. He had the vague beginnings of a plan, but it was risky. He knew full well that Sirius was a powerful, and vicious duellist. He remembered what had happened in the Forest all too vividly. He just needed a reaction… He looked up, a contemptuous look on his face.

"Friends? What's the matter, can't cope with a thirteen year old by yourself? Voldemort must be really desperate if he's relying on cowards like you."

"Ah… Don't call me a coward. I'm not a coward Harry – I'm not." Sirius spoke quietly, but it was obvious that Harry had struck a nerve.

"Is that so? How come you waited till my back was turned to attack me then? Worried I'd be too good for you? I must have really scared you in the Forest!"

"I am not scared of you little boy!" Sirius snapped, stalking forward, pressing his wand to Harry's cheek.

"Really? Because I think the real reason you've stayed hidden all this time is that you're scared to stand up for what you believe, not loyalty. Couldn't face Azkaban could you? Worried the Dementors might remind you of mummy?"

"Shut up!" Sirius roared, and he cast a spell. Harry was blown backwards, tumbling head over heels – but the ropes disintegrated. He jumped to his feet swiftly, drawing his wand and casting in one fluid movement. Sirius swore as he realised he had been tricked, and dived to avoid Harry's spell. He cast back, and Harry cast a shield charm – but it wasn't enough. The curse tore apart the shield and blasted him backwards, sending him crashing into the wall so hard that it cracked under the impact. He cried out in pain, falling to the floor, but before he could climb to his feet, Sirius had fired off another curse.

This time, there was an explosion as it hit Harry. He barely had time to scream as he blacked out.

* * *

He came to lying in the hallway of Privet Drive, outside the under-stairs cupboard, deep in his mental landscape. He smiled, an expression utterly without pleasure or humour. He hurried to the door of the cupboard, examining the ice still coating it. Not that thick now. It should be ok…

"_Potter, would you care to explain precisely what you're doing? Lazing around here while that little gits out there doing God knows what… Shouldn't you be doing something a little more useful?"_

"This is all part of the plan."

"_Part of the plan? Merlin, you are royally fucked if this is the best plan you can come up with…"_

"Will you shut up? Sirius is powerful – too powerful for me. Well, he is at the moment. But, as you so often remind me, I've got a hell of a lot of power buried away in here. I need it. You're in the way, so I get a two-for-one deal; enough power to fight him, and you out of my head."

"_Now you're talking a language I can understand! Come on, get cracking – if you'll pardon the pun…"_

Harry gave a bitter smile, and raised his wand.

"_Cremo!_"

Fire licked out, hitting the ice with a roar. There was a hiss and a crack, and the ice shattered, cascading off the door. Melted ice flooded the hallway floor, and Harry took a step back, waiting for something to happen.

"_I don't want to alarm you Harry…"_

The door burst open, and a cloud of darkness spread out, sprinkled with little dots of light. It washed over the stairs, the walls, the floor and the ceiling. Harry turned, horrified, towards the front door, wanting to get out, sure his plan had gone dreadfully wrong. But the darkness spread too fast for him, enveloping him, drowning him.

He screamed.

* * *

Sirius walked over to Harry's body, lying against the wall. He prodded him gently with his foot, checking for signs of life. He felt scared for the first time that night; if Harry had died, then the Dark Lord would have him killed. Violently.

To his relief, Harry groaned. He was still alive – it didn't matter if he was a little battered. He reached down, grabbing Harry's robes and yanking him into a sitting position. He watched as Harry opened his eyes, and then jumped back, swearing loudly.

Harry's eyes were flecked with red, and the expression in them was one of extreme violence.

Harry – was it Harry? – stood up slowly, almost as if he was unused to having a body. He stretched, spreading his arms wide, and looked at his hands with a wide-eyed expression. His eyes began to glow, and sparks flickered between his fingertips. He giggled.

"Now this… This was unexpected. Not entirely unpleasant though. Wow. I mean seriously, wow! All this magic, quite literally at my fingertips."

Sirius raised his wand, his hand trembling. "Harry? What are you doing?"

The figure turned to him leisurely. A dreadful smile spread over his lips, rictus-like.

"I'm sorry, Harry isn't here right now. I'll be your host for the evening Mr Black. Don't tell me you don't remember me? We've met before – in the Forest, just after you ripped Harry's lungs open."

As he spoke, the lightning bolt on Harry's head split open, and blood began to trickle from it. His eyes were glowing even more now, and there was a wind coming from somewhere, incredibly powerful. Sirius could feel the magic pressing against him, and it was terrifying. He moved his wand, very carefully.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

The person controlling Harry's body didn't even try to dodge, but merely twitched his fingers. The chair in the corner flew across the room, blocking the jet of vile green light before it had a chance to hit Harry. The magical wind was building to an almost unbearable pressure, and Harry's eyes were glowing with a painful intensity.

"Rejoice. For very bad things are about to happen."

Everything exploded.

* * *

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	21. A Storm of Power

**Chapter 19: A Storm Of Power**

Everything exploded.

Sirius was thrown backwards, through the wall, which was shattering anyway under the force of the magical explosion. The Shack groaned, dust falling from the ceiling. Sirius picked himself up, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. The terrible not-Harry was standing in the midst of a whirlwind of shattered wood, laughing like a demon. He walked forward, raising his hand. Magic sparked from it, arcing into the walls, spreading before him. Sirius scrambled back, trying to avoid being burnt.

"You can't run from me Black. You owe Harry a debt, and I'm going to collect it with interest. You will die Sirius, and you'll deserve it. Do you understand that?"

Sirius sobbed in terror, and fired off another curse. The not-Harry laughed, and flexed his fingers again. A plank of wood intercepted the curse, but it had been a blasting curse; there was another explosion, and the floor splintered beneath them. They fell to the floor below, the walls cascading down around them as the Shrieking Shack began to collapse. Sirius, already off balance, landed awkwardly on his back, before the bed fell on him. He screamed, and watched in horror as the not-Harry cushioned his fall with a flick of his hand.

Now almost frantic with horror, Sirius banished the bed from himself, sending it speeding towards the terrible creature in front of him. The not-Harry laughed, and flicked his hand again. The bed trembled in mid-air, but either he wasn't as strong as he thought or he had used too much wandless magic too soon. It cannoned into him with a sickening crack, and the not-Harry was thrown off his feet.

Sirius scrambled to his feet, staggering backwards. The not-Harry groaned, and Sirius snarled in triumph.

"Not so tough after all you little freak! I can't kill you, my Master wants you alive – but I suspect you can survive this! _Confringo!_"

Again and again he fired the spell, blasting the walls, the ceiling, everything he could see. There was a horrible creak, and he turned and ran for the door, blasting it off its hinges. As he passed over the threshold, he shifted into his Animagus form, still moving, bounding forward much faster than he could have run in his human form.

Behind him, the shack collapsed in on itself, showering the not-Harry with debris. He was buried under the entire weight of the Shack, three floors of wood and furniture.

Sirius shifted back, gazing in satisfaction at the destruction he had wrought. He heard footsteps behind him, but was unconcerned. He had smelt Rosier and the Carrow twins approaching while in his dog form. They walked up beside him, and gazed at the scene in front of them.

"Bloody hell Black, I didn't think yer had it in you! Damn good job!" Amycus Carrow was an ugly specimen, hunched and misshapen, with an ugly leer. Sirius took a step away from him in distaste. Classic Pureblood inbreeding, and his sister, Alecto, wasn't much better – stocky, if one was feeling polite, and almost as ugly as her brother. At present, she was chuckling at the destruction. Rosier looked at him disapprovingly.

"Where's the boy Black? Our Master will be most displeased if you have failed…"

Sirius merely pointed at the remnants of the Shack. Rosier followed his gaze, and he swore in disbelief.

"You buried him in that? You're insane! We need the little hero alive! I should have come with you, got the job done properly – how could you let this happen?"

"There were complications." Sirius responded grimly. He explained, briefly, what had happened. Rosier stroked his chin thoughtfully, but Amycus and Alecto just laughed.

"If this is true, then he's probably still alive – in which case, we can still take him. But they'll have noticed this for miles around, you weren't exactly discreet were you Black?" Rosier stared at the debris thoughtfully. "Amycus, Alecto – head up to the castle, as fast as you can. Dumbledore will be coming, do everything you can to delay him."

"What? Are yer insane? We're not going up against Dumby!" Amycus barked.

The pile of debris exploded, wood flying everywhere. The Death Eaters whirled away, cursing, and looked on in fear. The not-Harry bounded out of the midst of the pile of rubble, his wand in his hand.

"Oh Sirius! I'm not done with you yet! Oh, and you've brought friends – how marvellous!"

He leapt down to the floor, and began to prowl towards them. Rosier snapped off a bolt of lightning from his wand, but the not-Harry just twirled his wand in a circle. A purple circle appeared from the tip of his wand, and the lightning was absorbed, sucked into it. There was a pause, the purple light flickering, and then it vanished, leaving only a ball of light at the top of the holly wand. The not-Harry smirked.

"Surprise…"

Lightning lashed out again, much more powerful, arcing towards them. The Death Eaters all cast protective charms, but their shields were utterly destroyed, despite their combined efforts. The Carrow twins looked at each other nervously.

"Right. Distraction it is Amycus! Come on!" Alecto turned and ran, her brother close on her heels. As they ran, they began to blur, suddenly disappearing in a cloud of smoke, which wafted through the trees towards the castle. The not-Harry watched them go calmly, then turned back to Rosier and Sirius, leering at them.

"Alone at last… I thought they'd never leave!" He took a classic duelling stance, extending his left arm, and beckoned them on. "Show me what ya got!"

* * *

The moon was rising in the sky above Hogwarts, and Severus Snape was genuinely worried. It had been a difficult day, what with the Potions exams and the resulting chaos, and what with one thing or another, he had only just realised that Lupin had not collected his potion. This was a serious issue. A wild werewolf within the castle walls? Simply unacceptable. He was hurrying from the dungeons with the vial of Wolfsbane, praying they were not too late, when he literally bumped into Peter. The assassin was clearly in a bad mood about something, and he glowered at Snape.

"Can't you be a little more careful Snape? You'll do yourself an injury – or more importantly, _me_."

Snape sneered. "I'm only hurrying because of Lupin's incompetence – he neglected to collect his potion today. Time is of the essence."

Pettigrew's face cleared, panic replacing his sour expression. "Merlin's blood, why are you hanging around here then? Come on, let's get it there!" He hurried after Snape, unconsciously preparing to do battle with a savage wolf.

The door was locked when they arrived. Peter looked at Snape in relief. "That's something at least… Remus? Remus, are you alright?"

There was no answer. Peter called out again, and then, with a worried expression, cast an unlocking charm. The door swung open, and they both gaped, appalled. Remus was lying there, trapped under a desk and with three silver spikes sticking out of him. He was clearly in agony, and the first signs of the change were on him. Snape froze, his terror evident. Peter tore the vial from Snape's unresisting hands and ran forward, forcing it down Remus' throat. His friend calmed somewhat, and pulled him close.

"Peter… It's Sirius… He…"

"What's happened Moony? He didn't show up for patrol, what's happened to him?"

"It was him – he's the traitor, always has been… he did this… staked me." Remus began to weep gently, and a cold expression settled across Peter's face. Listening in horror and astonishment – because much as he loathed Black, he had never thought him a traitor – Snape recognised the expression from the war. Peter had marked Black for death. He shuddered.

"Where is he Remus? Where did he go?"

"Went… Went with Harry. Don't know – don't know where…"

Peter stood up in silence. He drew his wand, and cast a Patronus messenger – a rat, like his Animagus form – sending it towards Dumbledore. He turned to Snape.

"Wait here, tell Dumbledore what happened. I'm going after Sirius."

"But you don't have any idea where he could have gone!"

"I'll find him. I always find my targets Snape, you know that." Every last trace of warmth had disappeared from Peter's face, and Snape recognised powerful Occlumency shields clouding the assassin's emotions.

In the distance, from the direction of Hogsmeade, there was an explosion. Peter turned.

"Too close for the village – the Shack."

He left the room at a run.

* * *

"_Cremo!"_

Rosier sent a solid wall of fire streaming at the not-Harry, but the figure just danced out of the way. Sirius, beginning to feel scared once more, sent a hail of razor sharp shards of metal cascading towards his godson, followed by a stream of ice. The not-Harry repelled the metal, but the ice froze over his arm, and he had to dive to avoid Rosier's second curse, which would have stripped the flesh from his bones.

The not-Harry rolled behind a tree, popping out again a moment later to banish a pile of wood at the two Death Eaters, the ice gone from his arm. The wood was easily deflected, but they realised too late that it had been a distraction for the real curse, a spell which seemed to grab the air from their lungs. They both fell to their knees, choking, but Rosier wasn't a duelling champion for nothing. He jabbed his wand forward, and was gratified to hear his opponent scream as his bones started to petrify. The curse on their throats was lifted, and Sirius slashed his wand like a sword.

A motion from the not-Harry, and a silver shield appeared in mid-air. Sirius' spell cleaved it in two, but it had given the not-Harry enough time to counter Rosier's spell. It hadn't been without cost though; he moved much more stiffly. He attacked again: "_Sagitto!_"

Spears flew towards them, melting the ground where they struck, leaving only smoking craters. One hit Rosier in the arm, and he cried out in pain. Sirius stepped forward to counter-attack, but the not-Harry twirled his wand, blowing Sirius off his feet with a powerful gust of wind. Rosier struggled upright, and slammed the tip of his wand into the earth, sending tremors spreading out around him. The forest shook, and not-Harry was thrown off balance. From behind Rosier, Sirius fired off another spell, which seemed to miss not-Harry entirely, hitting the floor in front of him. There was a moment's pause, and then not-Harry began to sink into the earth as it turned to liquid around his feet.

He began working magic on the earth, trying to reverse Sirius' transfiguration, but he didn't seem to be as skilled at this as he was at duelling. The two Death Eaters took advantage of their opponent's predicament to try and stun him, but in vain; he merely raised his wand, and with a cry of "_Ascendio!"_ soared from the pool he had been stranded in. Rosier grinned, and tracked his trajectory. As non-Harry landed with a soft thud, Rosier hit him with a vicious slashing curse. Not-Harry sank to one knee, crying out, and Rosier followed this with another burst of lightning from his fingertips, drawing another scream from his target.

With a laugh, Sirius strode forward to finish it off, but not-Harry looked up, snarling, and flicked his wand in an upward motion. Sirius was hoisted into the air with a cry, and then not-Harry fired a glowing stream of magic which wrapped around Rosier's waist. He tugged, and Rosier was pulled off his feet – he had to twist to avoid snapping his wand as he fell. Not-Harry cancelled the spell on Sirius, sending him crashing to the floor, and fired a powerful bolt of light into their midst, blowing them off their feet once more. Sirius looked up, his vision blurred, to see the not-Harry limping off into the Forest, clearly wounded badly.

The two Death Eaters hauled themselves to their feet, and set off after him.

* * *

Peter reached the grand staircase and didn't stop, vaulting over the rail and dropping to the floor below, a swift spell slowing and cushioning his fall. He landed lightly, digging his heels into the floor and pushing off the moment he landed, students scattering from his path with cries of alarm and confusion. He charged through the entrance hall, willing the doors open with a push of magic, and burst into the evening light like a bullet.

He could see a faint plume of smoke in the distance, on the other side of the Forest, as if something had caught fire, and he paused. What if the explosion hadn't just come from the Shack, but had actually _been_ the Shack? If that was the case, then the tunnel under the Whomping Willow would be worse than useless. It wasn't the only way to get there, but it was the most direct; going via the broom shed at the Quidditch pitch, or through Hogsmeade, would cost him valuable time, and whatever was going on there might be over. Harry could have been killed.

He scanned his surroundings quickly, taking note of anything that could be of use. He smiled, and set off again, running swiftly but evenly, breathing calmly. At the bottom of the slope, Hagrid was standing there, watching the smoke curiously. He was surrounded by Thestrals. He turned as he heard Peter approach.

"Peter? Wha's going on? What was that explosion?"

"Sorry Hagrid, no time to explain – I need to borrow a Thestral." Peter mounted one as he spoke, patting its head. The bizarre creature shifted, making itself more comfortable, and began to run, flapping its wings in preparation for take off. Peter could hear Hagrid shouting after him as he rose into the air, steering the Thestral in the direction of the Shack. As he flew through the air, the wind biting at him, he noticed two plumes of mist – or possibly smoke – streaming out of the Forest towards the castle, but he had no time to worry about mysterious weather now.

He nearly fell off the Thestral in astonishment when he saw what had happened to the Shack. It was a smoking, ruined wreck, reduced to fragments. He swooped down to the ground, releasing the Thestral, and drew his wand. There were clear signs of a vicious battle around it, and the sharp tang of powerful magic, most of it dark. It made him feel tainted, as if it was worming its way inside him, and he shivered. He examined the battle-ground, looking for clues, but it left him with more questions than anything else. Some very advanced magic had been thrown around – magic that Harry should not have been capable of. Had someone come to help him?

What was perfectly clear was that there were footprints, heading away from the battleground and into the Forest. He set off at a run, extinguishing the light from his wand, and plunged into the Forest.

The feel of magic faded away as he went further in, as if the duel had ended – or at least been put on hold. He slowed, treading carefully, as quietly as he could, on the alert for an ambush. It was incredibly dark in the midst of the Forest, but years as an assassin had left Peter's eyesight almost unnaturally good. He moved like a ghost through the trees, following the footprints. It was obvious now; one person had run into the Forest, and two others had followed. The two followers were running together – he recognised Sirius' distinctive tread, so the other was presumably another Death Eater. Rosier perhaps? The footprints in front had to be Harry… But if it was only the three of them, then where had all that powerful magic come from? It was possible that the Death Eaters had just been hurling dark magic around carelessly, but he knew that Sirius was a better duellist than that, as was Rosier. If Harry had indeed been on his own, Peter had no explanation for how the battle had lasted so long.

A branch cracked, a short distance ahead of him, and he immediately shifted into his Animagus form. He hid in the shadow of a tree, watching carefully. Evan Rosier loomed out of the darkness, an eager expression on his face. He raised his wand, and muttered under his breath. A sucking sensation swamped Peter's body, and he shuffled in discomfort. Rosier smirked.

"I know you're there little rat… Are you going to come out and play?"

Peter began to move, trying to get past Rosier. It was obviously a delaying tactic, which suggested that Harry was still alive. Rosier was no fool though.

"No? I suppose I'll have to _smoke _you out then!"

The Death Eater whirled his wand around his head, and sparks began to fly from it. They sizzled as they hit the trees and the grass, igniting everything they touched. Within seconds, Peter's path was blocked by a ring of blazing fire, trapping him with Rosier. He shifted back, casting a spell at the Death Eater as he did so. Rosier heard it coming, and blocked it without even turning. He turned to face Peter, slowly, and grinned a terrible grin.

"Shall we dance Mister Pettigrew?"

* * *

Harry climbed to his feet, his whole body tingling. The door to the understairs cupboard was still open, but the flood of darkness coming from it had halted. Indeed, the darkness that had seeped out before he had fallen unconscious had disappeared almost without trace.

Almost.

The walls, which had previously been painted a rather fetching creamy colour, were now a deep red. Everything was darker – even the light-bulbs had dimmed. Harry staggered to the cupboard, looking into it. With a groan, he realised that the darkness had not vanished completely, although it no longer blanketed everything. He could see light shining through – his blocked magic, if Dumbledore was correct. In theory then, his plan had had a limited success. He could only hope that he would now have sufficient power to fight Sirius and whoever else was going to be arriving.

At least the strange occupant of his mind seemed to have gone. He was sure that if he had still been there, he would have been subjecting Harry to a stream of vitriolic sarcasm.

"_Well, yes actually, but I'm a little busy right now._"

Harry jumped when the voice spoke, and swore in disbelief, slamming his hand against the wall.

"None of it worked properly? Merlin, how long am I going to have to put up with you? I shattered all the ice, what more do you need? You said that would work!"

"_Well… I am out, that's true. Just not in quite the fashion I anticipated. And would you mind shutting up? I'm trying to win a duel here. It isn't going well; your godfathers a tricky little bastard."_

"What do you mean you're trying to win a duel? Where are you?"

"_Out here. In control of your body. So shut up for a minute will you?"_

Harry stood very still for a long moment, frozen in shock. Then he ran to the front door, trying desperately to open it. It was stuck tight, and he pulled his wand out, casting charm after charm at it – all to no avail.

"_Harry, trust me, you don't want to come back out just yet. This is not a pleasant situation; let me handle it."_

"Screw that! I'm not letting you run around in my body! Let me out!"

"_You don't have a lot of choice right now – not that I have any either, I'm buggered if I know how to change back. Last time I had to be knocked unconscious – gah!_"

"What happened?" Harry asked, a little suspicious – and slightly nervous.

"_Rosier – I think it's him anyway – tore my arm open. Painful."_

"It isn't _your _arm! Let me out!" Harry yelled once more.

There was no response, and, frustrated and beginning to feel afraid, Harry returned to trying to open the door.

* * *

Sirius and Rosier were running through the Forest, following the not-Harry. The boy was moving surprisingly swiftly for someone who had been limping; his magic was clearly working in overdrive to fix the damage he had sustained – a good thing, as it would likely mean that he was not strong enough to fight back once they caught up with him.

Sirius shifted into his Animagus form as the path grew less clear and harder to follow. He sniffed the air, searching for his godsons scent. He could smell it – just. It wasn't _quite_ Harry. Something was a little off. What was going on with the boy? Shaking his head, he bounded forward a few paces and then stopped, his hackles rising. He threw his head back, and inhaled deeply. Rosier halted, looking at him curiously. Sirius shifted back.

"It's Peter. I can smell him; he's following us."

Rosier nodded, turned, and headed back the way they had come, leaving Sirius alone. Trepidation filled him; he wasn't entirely certain that he could deal with whatever Harry had become on his own, even if it was injured and exhausted. But he had to confess, the thought of duelling his godson till they dropped excited him ever so slightly. With a grin, he ran forward, following his nose.

The path he was following emerged in a clearing, with a small lake in the middle of it. There was no sign of Harry, or whatever had been using his body. He walked around the lake carefully, warily, his wand out and ready for action. He heard someone speak, very softly, and he dived to the ground. The spell soared through the space where he had been standing, and a small dead tree was cut in two. He rolled away, anticipating another spell, and crouched, looking for his opponent.

There was no-one there. He cast the Revealing charm, and frowned when nothing happened. Then it hit him. The Invisibility Cloak. He had told Harry to bring it with him, thinking that it would be a useful thing to have after the Dark Lord had been restored. He hadn't taken it; Harry still had it. And for whatever reason, the Potter family Cloak prevented detection through any means. He was _totally_ invisible.

"Just going to hide under that thing all night are you? Guess I can't blame you, you were badly hurt… There's no shame in giving up now you know."

There was no verbal response, just a cold laugh. There was a rustle in the undergrowth, but – naturally – he could see nothing moving.

"What are you?"

"Like I'd tell you… You don't need to know anyway, you aren't going to walk away alive, you do know that don't you?"

"You're the one who ran away…"

"You're the one who had to collapse a building to stop me, the one who had to get another psycho killer to gang up on me. Where does that put you?"

"Sorry, did you just _criticise_ someone for being psychotic? Isn't that a little hypocritical? And I've only known you about half an hour!"

The not-Harry chuckled again, but gave no reply. Sirius began to move as well, taking the precaution of casting a Disillusionment Charm. He wasn't sure how much effect it would have though – his opponent did seem to have a few unusual gifts.

A tense couple of minutes passed in silence. Then a spell nearly took his ear off. He whirled around, flinging a curse in the direction the attack had come from, and he was rewarded with a yelp of pain, and a soft thud as someone fell to the floor. He ran over, and searched the ground frantically. He yelled triumphantly as he clasped soft fabric, and gave a tug. The Cloak came away in his hands, and not-Harry was revealed, blood spilling from a shoulder wound. Sirius barely had time to raise his wand before his arm began to ripple, agonisingly. He staggered back, staring in shock at his arm. It was beginning to sag, as if the bones were being removed, and then little lumps began to rise up. It was a complex transfiguration, and under other circumstances he would probably have taken a moment to admire it. However, he had to settle for kicking his opponent in the face to buy himself some time. There was no way he could duel with his wand-arm in that condition.

While not-Harry wiped the blood from his face, Sirius focussed his magic as best he could. He had never been brilliant at using magic without a wand. He wasn't totally successful, but his arm was at least useable. He cast at the same time as not-Harry, their spells colliding in mid-air with a bang and a shower of sparks. Not-Harry's follow-up was quicker though, and Sirius was thrown off his feet, tumbling backwards to the lake-side. He looked up, and was shocked to see not-Harry convulsing. The boy sank to the floor, clutching his head.

When he looked up, his eyes were totally green.

* * *

Harry looked at Sirius, his rage simmering. He wasn't entirely sure how he had regained control of his body; the door of his mental landscape had just swung open and there he had been. He wasn't going to complain though. His mental guest certainly seemed to have done some damage to Sirius. His godfather was bruised, dirty and bleeding. They stared at each other in silence for several moments. Neither had the energy for a duel.

"Welcome back Harry. Quite a trick you've got there."

Harry didn't respond.

"Any chance you're going to tell me how you did it?"

Harry just raised an incredulous eyebrow. Sirius shrugged, and began to walk away. Harry raised his wand, tracking him – but didn't cast any spell. He cursed his hesitation a moment later; Sirius had been retrieving his wand from where he had dropped it. But Sirius didn't cast a spell either. He didn't even raise his wand. He just turned back to Harry.

"So what's it going to be, _pup_? We going to duel it out until one of us is dead, or are you going to come quietly?"

"Maybe you should surrender." Harry told him quietly.

Sirius gave a derisive snort. "I don't think that's very likely, do you? And somehow… I don't think you can kill me. More to the point, I don't think you _will_ kill me."

Harry stared at him, his heart pounding in his chest. And then he lowered his wand, shaking his head. Sirius smirked, and took a pace forward – then halted in shock.

The lake had iced over.

Harry and Sirius looked around the clearing frantically, before their eyes were drawn inevitably upwards. Black shapes were drifting down from the sky towards them, their presence chilling the Forest. Dementors. Sirius looked back at Harry.

"Of course, you've got bigger problems than me right now…" He sketched an ironic salute at his godson, before shifting into his Animagus form. In the blink of an eye, he bounded off through the Forest, back the way he had come. Harry watched him go, feeling as if his heart had been torn in two.

And then the Dementors were upon him.

True to form, they did not distinguish between target and anyone who happened to be in their way. Harry could feel them sucking at his emotions, could feel all the joy being drained from his body. Distantly, he heard his mother scream, over and over again. He sank to his knees, unwilling to fight back. He didn't care, the Dementors could suck him dry if they wanted to. He dropped his wand.

And then: flashes of memories. His family. His friends. Remus, Peter. All the good times they had gone through together, coupled with the knowledge of the pain they would feel if he gave himself up to the Dementors. A memory, from several years ago, of a conversation with Sirius.

"_Oh, your mum hated your dad at first. He must have asked her out every week for four years, she always said no. But he never gave up, never. That was the Potter pride you see – he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of winning. Of course, given that they got together after she asked _him_, you might say that she won anyway, but that's not the point…"_

No. The memory pained him deeply, contrasting the Sirius of memory with the Sirius he had seen this evening, but as with the memory, that wasn't the point. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He wouldn't let Sirius beat him.

His fingers clasped around his wand, icy to the touch. He raised it to the sky, and cried out, with all the energy he could muster: "_EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_

A glorious white shield, shimmering in the star-light, burst from the tip of his wand. Those Dementors near it were slammed away; others charged it, trying to break through, only to be bounced off. But it was not a true Patronus. It would not hold forever, even if he had been fully rested and refreshed. And he was so tired. The shield began to falter, both from his exhaustion and from Dementor attacks. And finally, a Dementor reached out and swiped it aside, as if it were no more substantial than mist. They flocked towards him again, and he fell to the floor once more.

"_Giving up again? If we… if we work together…"_

The voice sounded tired as well. How could it not? It had certainly been working hard that evening. Harry didn't know who it was, didn't even know what it was. He didn't know if he could truly trust it. All he knew was that he had no choice. And so, for the first time aware of a little pressure in the back of his head, he raised his wand, and cried out again, _"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" _The half formed Patronus that he produced pushed the Dementors it hit away, but again, it was no true Patronus. Like the shield, it soon succumbed, torn apart by the foul creatures. As the Dementors came to attack a third time, Harry let out a little sob of despair.

The thud of hooves on earth, cracking twigs as it came. A shining light, piercing the darkness like a blade. The unicorn came out of nowhere, apparently unaffected by the Dementors presence. It slowed to a trot, approaching Harry seemingly unafraid, and nuzzled its head against him. There was no transferral of magic, no shining light. Just a sense of purity, of warmth that went bone deep, flooding his body. Harry stroked its flank gratefully, and looked up at the circling Dementors.

He smiled.

"Together?"

"_Together."_

Harry slowly climbed to his feet, standing head on to the Dementors. He raised his wand, and as he did so, he felt his magic swirling around him, stronger than he had ever felt it. For one brief moment, he closed his eyes, basking in its warmth, glorying in it. And then he opened them, and his eyes shone with power.

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_

Fully formed, the unicorn Patronus leapt towards the Dementors, smashing them aside, trampling them under hoof. It reared against the sky, glowing painfully bright. Dementors fled before it, as if they knew what was coming. A slow, steady shockwave of happiness, rippling out from the Patronus. It scattered the remaining Dementors like dust, battering them, tearing at them, until Harry was alone in the clearing but for his Patronus. The unicorn had disappeared.

He stared at his Patronus, now glowing so brightly that he felt it could burn him. It turned its head towards him, and he felt the joy in it. It cantered over to him, touching him with its horn. The brief touch started to fragment it, but Harry fancied its touch lingered, making a start on the emotional healing he knew he would have to undergo after Sirius' betrayal. He staggered, his fatigue returning.

"_Rest Harry. You've done everything you can."_

Harry nodded, vaguely aware that this was fairly pointless under the circumstances, and sank bonelessly to the floor. As his eyes fluttered closed, he thought he saw Peter come bursting through the trees, calling his name frantically.

He smiled.

* * *


	22. Epilogue: The Wandering Traveller

**Epilogue: The Wandering Traveller**

Harry walked out of the Hospital Wing three days later, feeling that he didn't really recognise the world anymore. Peter had carried him back to the castle snug in his arms, and had delivered him straight to Madame Pomfrey, bypassing even Dumbledore. In fact, his friends had confided in him that Peter had actually threatened Dumbledore, warning him to stay away until Harry had recovered sufficiently. Harry couldn't find the words to describe how grateful he was for the solitude. It had been a struggle getting through the brief visits from his friends, so Dumbledore's questions would probably have broken him.

He had been treated for intense magical exhaustion, in addition to a fine variety of cuts, bruises and broken bones. Madame Pomfrey had told him that when Peter had brought him in, he had been in such a bad way that casting just one more spell would probably have damaged his magic permanently, such was the strain it had been under.

He thought himself lucky.

He had seen Remus.

His guardian was on round the clock surveillance. The silver poisoning had wrecked his immune system completely, and begun to work on seriously damaging his vital organs. It had been made worse by his transformation halfway through; turning into a wolf had only exacerbated the effect of the silver. He was lucky to be alive, but it would be at least a month before he was out of the Hospital Wing – he was too fragile to move to St Mungos.

His friends had also filled him in on events away from the Shack. The Carrow twins had indeed attacked the school. They had distracted Dumbledore by setting fire to the greenhouses, and then proceeded to cause havoc in other areas of the grounds. It was a miracle that they had only encountered Snape and Hagrid; one too skilled to be in danger, the other simply too thick-skinned. Truthfully, the twins had been outmatched even before Dumbledore arrived. When he had appeared, the Death Eaters had simply flitted away in gusts of smoke. It paled in comparison to the duel at the Shack, but Harry had not told the full story to anyone yet, making out that he had been in control the whole time, and had simply got lucky. Not even Ginny had picked up on this, despite knowing about his rather violent mental guest.

He hadn't heard anything from him since passing out at the lake, but he had resolved to talk to him before long. There were things to discuss.

Peter had duelled Rosier almost to a standstill, before being knocked flat by a large black dog. By the time he recovered, both the dog and Rosier had disappeared. He had seen the end of Harry's encounter with the Dementors, and had passed it on to appropriate people. This of course meant that pretty much the whole school knew within hours that Harry Potter had faced off against nearly a hundred Dementors and had come out 'unscathed'. Hearing this made Harry laugh bitterly. He was anything but unscathed. There was a hole in his heart, which had formerly been filled with love for Sirius. He could barely think the name without wanting to curse something now.

He walked through the castle aimlessly, ignoring everyone who cried out to him in greeting. Eventually, he found himself at the Fat Lady. He offered the password and walked through the common room to the dormitory. It was blessedly empty. He opened his trunk and rummaged through, searching for the photo album he always took with him. He took it out, and sat on his bed, leafing through it. Every now and then, he took a photo out. They were all of him and Sirius, sometimes with others in, but mainly just the two of them. He went through the entire album, taking every photo with Sirius in out of the wallet, and put them all in a pile.

"_Incendio!_"

The pile of photos ignited, sizzling flame leaping from them. Harry watched them burn away, and as he did so, tears began to run down his face. More and more, until he was curled into a little ball on the bed, sobbing into his pillow.

* * *

The man in the grey robes was going to considerable effort to avoid being seen. It wasn't as if people would have recognised him; his robes came complete with a large hood that completely obscured his face and besides, it was company policy never to go on an operation without some form of glamour altering your features. At the moment, he looked rather like a young Harrison Ford, a glamour he was rather proud of. However, the recognisable uniform, not to mention the distinctive tattoo on the back of his hand – in the shape of an eye – would certainly cause comment. And comments were bad.

His task was made easier by the reputation that lingered around his current location. The Shrieking Shack, formerly on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, had never had a brilliant reputation, and the events of the previous night had only worsened this. Hardly surprising; it had exploded, under very mysterious circumstances. All that anyone really knew was that the area around it was soaked with the taint of dark magic, and that Dementors had been seen. Rather disturbingly, they had only been witnessed fleeing the scene.

Of course, the grey-robed man – one Gabriel Faulkner – knew that Dumbledore probably knew precisely what had happened there. Certainly more than he was letting on. But Faulkner wasn't totally interested in the duel, or the presence of the Dementors, although he had certainly taken note of everything he could discover. He had more pressing issues.

It had been nearly a year since the Eye had woken, blazing like a beacon fire. It had gone cold again afterwards, but over the last couple of months, it had started to glow again. Very faintly it was true, but under the circumstances any activity was worrying. And the glow – indicating a rise in activity – was never strong enough to be tracked. Last night though… Last night the Eye had once again begun to glow as if there was a fire inside. Luckily for the company – luckily for the _world_ – Faulkner had been on duty, had actually been noting down the latest measurements taken from the Eye when it began to glow. Sadly, there was a necessary fine-tuning period, and so his team had not been able to leave instantly. By the time they had arrived at the Shack, whatever had happened was over, and there was no sign of particularly unusual magic. Once again, they had missed their target.

But at least they had a location. That rather narrowed their field of suspects – or would, once Faulkner had confirmed his theory with his commander.

Faulkner walked back to the camp that his team had set up, deep in the Forest. The others were clad identically, grey-robes, eye tattoos, and glamours that made them look like entirely different people. He ducked into his tent, and, after casting the appropriate charms to ensure privacy, tapped his wand on the bowl of water sitting on the table. After a moment, a face appeared in it, as if on the other side of a window.

"Well? What have you to report?"

Faulkner bowed his head. "There was definitely an outbreak here. The readings we've taken suggest one initial burst, followed by a low-level sustained flow, before it dried up altogether. In addition to that, we've got a lot of dark magic soaked in around here. We haven't been able to find out why."

The man in the water, Faulkner's commander, nodded grimly. "I have. It's buzzing around here like nobody's business. Death Eater attack apparently. Rosier and a couple of others – the Carrow twins – attacked the school."

Faulkner scowled. He had a nephew in the first year at Hogwarts. He hoped nothing had happened to the lad. His commander – Silas Tulliver – had moved on though. "Any ideas on who our target might be? Please tell me we aren't thinking Dumbledore here…"

Faulkner shook his head with a grin, appreciating Tulliver's attempt at humour. His commander knew full well that it was not Dumbledore they were after. "No sir. We suspect one of the students, most likely one between first and fifth year. Any older and they would probably be too settled in their magic to achieve this."

Tulliver nodded. "Makes sense. Any specific ideas?"

"Not officially sir, but – " and here Faulkner checked over his shoulder, despite the privacy charms, " – I did wonder about Potter?"

Tulliver nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "Potter. A possibility certainly."

"He's in the right age bracket sir, and we know that he's had difficulties with his magic – and which other student is likely to be attacked by a Death Eater?"

Tulliver chuckled, mirthlessly. "Fair point. Ok, I'll see what I can dig up on young Mister Potter. Good work Faulkner."

"Thank you sir. Sir…" Faulkner hesitated. Tulliver raised his eyebrow, encouraging the question. "If it is Potter… Then what do we do? I mean, there are other circumstances surrounding him, are there not?"

"You know the rules Gabriel." Tulliver's expression was cold, merciless. "If it is Potter, then he'll be subject to examination. He passes, then good luck to him. He fails… Well, then he has a little accident. There are no exceptions. None."

Faulkner bowed, acquiescing to his superior's command. And if it happened to hide the dissatisfaction in his expression, well, that was ok wasn't it?

"Yes sir. I understand."

"Good. Get back to base Faulkner. We've got work to do."

* * *

Harry approached the remnants of the Shack with a blank expression. Behind him, Peter stood, keeping watch, but allowing him his privacy. Harry began to dig through the rubble, looking for one piece in particular. It took several hours, and by the time he had finished it was getting dark, but eventually he found it. A piece of wood, with an inscription. Four names, and a declaration that had been shattered by tragedy and by lies. Harry hauled it out of the rubble, and walked back to Peter.

His guardian took the wood from him, examining it, and a pained expression crossed his face, just for a moment. Then it passed, and he looked at Harry. With a nod, he tapped the wood with his wand. A piece of it broke off – one name. Padfoot. Harry pointed his own wand at it, and muttered a spell. The wood shattered, and the word Padfoot was obliterated once and for all. Peter handed the rest of the wood back, now saying:

**Moony, Wormtail and Prongs**

**Marauders forever!**

It was an awkward shape, but Harry didn't care. He stuffed it in his pocket, and they both set off back to the castle, Peter's hand on his shoulder.

It was later. Harry had been lying awake, listening to his room-mates snore, and had finally given up on sleep. Quietly, he slipped out of the dorm, and headed to the bathroom. Locking the door behind him, he stood staring into the mirror.

"Hello? I want a word with you."

As Harry watched, one of his eyes was slowly flecked with red, and he flinched.

"_What's on your mind Potter? I hope we aren't going to have another argument, I really can't be bothered with that now…"_

"It's not that. You said you had fairly extensive knowledge of the dark arts."

"_That's true, although I don't know how. Why?"_

"Teach me."

* * *

It was a cold, misty morning, on a beach near Dover. The beach was deserted, save for a few gulls. Even they flew away when four people suddenly appeared from thin air with a loud crack. They strode towards the tide-line in silence, collectively grim-faced. The man they were about to see would not be pleased with their news.

They waited in silence, and before long, they heard the sound of oars breaking the waves. Moments later, a rowing boat broke through the mist, two men inside it. The oars were rowing under their own power. The boat beached itself, and one of the men climbed out. He was tall, lanky, with a mop of dark blonde hair, and a surprisingly smart suit, somewhat incongruously matched with a leather greatcoat. His tongue randomly darted in and out of his mouth, like a snake's. He offered his arm to his travelling companion, almost reverently, helping him from the boat. The other man looked half mad with fear, and cowered from the robed strangers on the beach. One of them looked at the suited man enquiringly.

"Just some Muggle. Not a worthy vessel, but an inconspicuous one, which is preferable at the moment. Don't worry, he can take control when he needs to."

"I can indeed Bartemius…"

The second voice came from somewhere at the back of the Muggle's head. The others instantly bowed to him, sinking to their knees, and the man stiffened, suddenly twitching as if having a fit. He staggered backwards, bracing himself on the boat. When he looked up, his eyes were red. He threw his head back with a high, cold laugh.

"Home at last!"

The Lord Voldemort had returned to England.

* * *

**The End of Book Three**

So there we are. Three books down, four to go. I hope you've all enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it! Thanks for sticking with me, and special thanks to everyone who has reviewed.

I'll hopefully see you before too long for book 4: The Power He Knows Not.

Remember, reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.

Shinysavage.

P.S. Anyone confused by the second scene, with Faulkner and Tulliver, should revisit the last chapter of Book 2: The Sneaking Serpent Walks.


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